They pedaled as fast as they could: the little one, because his legs were small, and the big one, because he didn’t know what he was doing with his gears. But that didn’t matter. He focused on playing follow the leader.
The little one didn’t have tattoos up and down his arms as the big one did. The big one wasn’t wearing a helmet and elbow and knee pads like the little one. But they were their own bike parade, little followed by big.
On a tiny country road, the oncoming lane filled with scenic drivers offered no way around the bikers (without giving them a decent-sized berth). So I slowed and followed them as they lollygagged along — parades don’t go too fast when led by a toddler.
Some would grimace, whine about time being wasted, the drive being delayed. “I’m in a hurry to get nowhere. I don’t have time for your biking.” But I just idly moved forward at a snail’s pace, noticing the trees the parade was passing, the flowers blooming in a nearby yard, and the two bikers in front of me having a grand old time.
A few feet later, the big one raised his tattooed arm up and out to the right. The parade would turn off on an upcoming side street. Just a bit further until I could go a little faster and continue on my way.
Little led the way as the parade turned right. The big one turned back towards me, smiled, and gave me a thumbs up. I waved and went off in the opposite direction.
I’m still smiling from being part of an impromptu parade, one of those little moments that matter in a big way.