"I had the pleasure last fall of a visit form my grandson, Nathan, who is ten. It is normal on his visits that we begin strategizing and laying out our itinerary a couple of weeks before he arrives. " By Rod Barfield
THERE OUGHTA BE A LAW
There oughta be a law that children learn to ride a bicycle by the age of six.
I had the pleasure last fall of a visit form my grandson, Nathan, who is ten. It is normal on his visits that we begin strategizing and laying out our itinerary a couple of weeks before he arrives. Boating at Fairystone, a hike at Rock Castle Gorge, a movie and pizza at Mt. Airy. This visit I was determined to get him on the New River Trail.
I enjoy biking the New River Trail for the solitude and for the idyllic views of old trestles, train tunnels and waterfalls. Mainly, I enjoy the reflective view into the past century. The occasional sightings of deer, bear and turkey merely add frosting to the pie
My problem with this particular visit was that my grandson had not learned to ride a bike. He had a bike and he could manage it for a block or two, but he wobbled like a raccoon gorged on persimmons when he rode.
Nathan lives in Virginia Beach in a house with a yard the size of a postage stamp. His best options to practice riding are the sidewalk and a four-lane highway that is always maximum capacity. Plus the irresistible lures of TV, Mp3s and other electronic gadgetry that totally consume tween-agers and totally elude me.
When the boy alights in Patrick County, he hits the ground running and we stay on the move until it is time for him to return east. I thought a trip on the NRT was just the thing to clear the electronic fog from his little mind and to find out what he is made of on a bike.
We began at the trail head at Galax, the historic little town renowned for its fiddlers’ conventions, monthly music events at the venerable Rex Theater and the Smokehouse Restaurant.
We started slowly, Nathan wobbling over the trail like an old man with too much wine for supper. We rode a mile, Nathan’s sight glued to his front tire like it was going to run away from him. He almost forced a couple of on-coming riders into a ditch before he asked for a break. He wasn’t tired; he just needed to collect himself.
We remounted and rode two more miles and he signaled for a stop. The boy was noticeably steadier on this stretch and careful to stay in his lane. I was convinced that he was going to ask to go back to Galax, but he just needed a little water and rest.
He mounted up and took the lead. We stopped counting the miles, lost in the quiet and the colors of the woods and boulders. We dallied at a waterfall and took pictures; we pulled up on one of the several old train trestles and took more pictures. We stopped occasionally to wet out faces in the river that slides by the trail, to take a pull from the water bottle and to eat a granola bar for energy. We finally went through the tunnel that I had promised him we would see and over the long iron trestle over the New River at the turn-off to Fries.
The little guy rode 17 miles on his maiden voyage. We were shocked. None of us, including his grandmother, thought him capable of such a long ride as a novice. He wheeled into Fries a veteran, feeling a security and confidence on a bike he thought he would never have. Nor did we.
It was a memorable day for all of us and a special one for a young man who had waited too long for this rite of passage.
Rail trails are about more than riding from point A to point B. They are about sharing quality time with those who matter most to us and to backing away from the increasingly electronic lifestyle that separates us from the natural world we live in.
Rod Barfield
Director
Patrick County Chamber of Commerce
and
Retired Businessman
