Eamon: <after a mini wipeout on the bike> "Ow. Ow. I'm hurt."
Me: "Are you bleeding?"
Eamon: <with great disappointment after thoroughly checking himself over> "Um, no. Wait! I just pulled a splinter out and now there is some!"
Me: "Where?"
Eamon: <triumphantly> "On my finger! See"
Me: <squinting> "Dude, that's the tiniest drop of blood I've ever seen."
Eamon: "But it is blood."
Me: "Get back on your bike."
10 minutes later...
Eamon: <after obsessively checking his injury> "Wow, I can't believe my wound has already quit bleeding!"
Me: "That really didn't even qualify as an actual wound."
And then at every slight incline and/or turn on the trail...
Eamon: "This is a big hill... Ok, I'm slightly braking! SLIGHTLY BRAKING!"
"Slightly braking" was our catch phrase of the day. ;)
Oh, and did I mention that we got lost? Somehow the lake, which should have always been on our left, ended up... somewhere else! After fording a raging... trickle of water that was too big to jump across while carrying a nine year old's bike, I ended up muddy and with my own bloody finger wound - worse than Eamon's I might add! Near the end of our very own 45 minute death march we came across a big sandy hill/trail and Eamon shocked me by telling me he was going to drag his bike up it and then ride down. He dragged the bike - and himself - up much further than I'd anticipated and then came pelting down, yelling, "SLIGHTLY BRAKING!" the whole way. I probably should have told him beforehand that brakes really don't work on sand and pinestraw... Oops! It was a spectacular wipeout at the end but I counted it as a win since he didn't end up in the ravine below. Plus, no broken bike parts - or broken boy parts for that matter! #winning!
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