Rules of the Road

Roan,

Last summer, when you were 2, I rode you to summer camp on the Frankenbike, and we spent half the trip on the green road, a (then) new and much disputed bike lane on Prospect Park West. This year I've mostly been walking you to camp in our new stroller, a sit and stand that you pretend is a train. But lately you have been asking to ride your bike.  I've been saying no, because the thought of running after you in my work clothes, lugging my work bag and my breast pump, in the heat, just seems terrible. But last week Ilan weaned and I put my breast pump away. The weather cooled down. I was running out of excuses. 

I pulled out your helmet and fingerless gloves and said okay.

I knew you'd want to ride in the green road. There is no fooling you, you know it is the place for bikes.

Everyday, at the start of the green road we go over two rules. #1, you must stay in your lane. The green road is a two way bike lane, and you must stay to the right of the yellow line. #2, you must stop at every crossing and look for people. The green road runs parallel to Prospect Park, so cars don't cross it. No one expects cyclists to stop, and you are such a novelty that people always stop for you. The real purpose of rule #2 is to give me a chance to catch up.

After two weeks I am still not used to seeing you zip along in an actual bike lane, hipsters on their fixies whipping by, parents commuting with empty childseats, me dodging trees and balancing on the curb to stay close and answer your incessant questions. If I step in the green road you reprimand me. "No mom, only bikes."

You are into rules. Which makes taking the green road hard. Cyclists, at least in this country, are not known for following rules. You are constantly asking why that bike did this or that or the other thing - nobody stops at crossings, everyone swerves out of their lane to pass you, and I can see how each infraction offends your sense of order. People riding scooters in the bike lane, people biking with their dogs, a man on roller skates, a woman without a helmet, the garbage truck idling in the lane all need to be explained. It's exhausting. And I worry that rules will become meaningless to you at too young an age. Any day you will ask me why nobody follows them.

My heart is always in my throat, just a little bit, watching you ride the green road. But I am also proud of you. You are becoming part of our community, inserting yourself in the world in a way that makes total sense to you, even as it baffles some of the passerby. You are so curious. You are figuring things out.

On our way to camp one day we stopped to watch a car getting towed. "Why?" You asked. "Because the car parked wrong," I said. "Oh," you said. "That car is bad." "Maybe not," I said, "maybe that car was just in a hurry." Then I explained what a hassle it is to get your car out of impound. "Oh," you said, "that tow truck is mean."

Things are mostly black and white for you now, but eventually you will see how the world is full of gray. That life, like the green road, is full of surprising things that don't quite belong. Such as, say, a three-year-old in a bike lane.