Up until the cold weather finally arrived about 10 days ago, I had been taking full advantage of our Indian Summer by going on near-daily bike rides with my daughter. Mostly I took her for rides along the Boulder Creek bike path, an extensive trail system that does follow the Creek, but also criss-crosses town every which way.
Although
bicycle trailers are by far the most popular mode of kiddie-transport around here, I went old-school and bought a
child's seat that is mounted behind my seat. I wanted my daughter to have a genuine bicycling experience, not another getting-pushed-(pulled)-around-in-a-reclining-position, stroller-esque experience. Between our car seat, regular stroller and jogging stroller, she gets more than enough of that. No, I wanted her to feel the wind in her hair. Feel the crisp fall air on her cheeks. Feel the thrill of going downhill and around bends.
But you know what the funny part of all that is? Apparently, brain development dictates that most people don't actually remember anything about their lives before the age of 3. Which is very intersting, considering that the first 18 months of development play such a crucial role in how our personalities take shape; especially concerning if and how we are able to bond with others.
So while my daughter (who is now 15 months old) won't literally remember the light glinting through these golden leaves...
...or the lovely stone wall spied across a twinkling creek...
...or walking through a bed of fallen leaves...
...part of me believes that surely something of these rides will survive in her memory, in some form or another. Maybe it will just be a visceral kind of thing: the smell of burning wood in the distance, the sound of dry leaves crackling underneath the bicycle's tires, the crisp kind of sunlight you only get in September and October. Or maybe it will be an emotional memory: squealing with delight at every dog we pass, giggling when I reach back and tickle her knee, smiling when I say "echo, echo, echo" as we pass through tunnels.

Maybe when my daughter grows up and tells me fall is her favorite season, I'll tell her all about our bicycling adventures of 2008. Or maybe I'll just smile and say, "You know what? Fall is my favorite season, too."
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