So my lunchtime training ride often takes me past the playground of a private school. As I approached the edge of it today, I saw three boys standing there. Eight, maybe nine years old. All three were watching me approach. Two were wearing doubtful smirks, and one was watching me with great intensity. I noticed his hands were tightly clenched, and I immediately started forming a plan for how I was going to jump off the bike to catch and haul the little bastard off to his teacher. Because obviously, he was planning to chuck a rock at me on a dare from his friends.
So I let the hill slow my pace a bit, and was ready to swing off the saddle the moment he raised his arm over his head. Except as I drew up next to him, he didn’t raise his arm. In fact, he took off running. Next to me.
It seems I’d been challenged to a race.
It’s funny, how much you can take in over 50-something meters and a few seconds. He was putting his all into it, little chest heaving at the effort, legs flailing away. His friends behind him, cheering. And then the giant smile when he was the first past the signpost. Good things can still happen, in this world.