Training Wheels

The best things I’ve bought in the last few years have been second hand. Well… most of them. One of them was unnecessarily expensive, but to be fair it got absolutely hammered. 

The first proper game-changer was a little plastic child’s bike seat called a Wee Ride. It straps your small human in front of you, right between your arms, and even has a headrest for when they pass out / fall asleep / enter whatever powered-down mode toddlers activate without warning. Forward-facing, top-tube-mounted seats are, I am convinced, one of cycling’s great unsung inventions.

Weeride. What a rig.

We went everywhere on that thing. Miles when the weather was good, and miles when the weather absolutely wasn’t. To and from baby classes. Trips into town. Woods. Playgrounds. Everywhere and anywhere. Two Tour of Britains, no less. Travelling by bike became a godsend—making more of the day, getting us outside, turning logistics into adventure.

And having a small person sitting right in front of you means you chat the whole way. About what you see. Mundane or otherwise. Pigeons. Diggers. Gates. Big puddles. Tiny dogs with opinions. She’ll always remember—whether she realises it or not—the day we got a puncture and I discarded both tyre and tube to rattle home on a bare rim like a budget apocalypse courier. The smells, the sounds, the whole strange, ordinary magic of getting from A to B.

The Wee Ride was soon complemented by a balance bike and—bear with me here—not long after, a tow rope. Yes. A large elastic bungee cord designed to save small legs and parental sanity. This turned dog walks into something both more efficient and considerably more ridiculous. The sight of me towing both child and terrier was, objectively, a strong visual. One pulling willingly, one not.

Full send

Growth, as it does, eventually caught up with the Wee Ride. A friend passed down their Shotgun seat and we stepped into the next phase. Little handlebars appeared. Pogie gloves followed. That was that. Trips to the local pump track became a regular thing: child on seat, balance bike strapped to backpack. Laps happened. At first with nervous hovering. Then with less fuss. Then, eventually, with that beautiful moment where you realise you’re no longer holding your breath for the entire circuit.

Most trips lasted two or three laps before the inevitable line arrived:
“Can we go to the park?”
Of course we can. You’re three. This is all entirely negotiable.

As winters arrive, outside time naturally shrinks. It has to be fun, after all—nobody’s here for character building at that age. Then the first pedal bike turns up and that day comes. The nervous one. The one where you pretend not to be nervous while hovering like a helicopter parent with a poker face.

All the top-tube walking. All the balance bike miles. All those slow circuits of parks and pump tracks. They paid off. She was off. No hesitation. No drama. Just… gone. The Wee Ride went back to my friend for his little one, and happily, the cycle has begun again. They’re bike nerds too. Of course they are.

The balance bike became redundant and moved on via the magic of the internet.

Then it all just… widened.
Rides to school.
Rides to the park.
Pump track laps on her own steam.
All fuelled by patience, snacks, and swings.

Another summer arrives. The combo of tow rope, bike strapped to a bag, and the Shotgun seat opens up actual distance now—still in bite-sized chunks, but real journeys. Trips to the woods. Rope swings. Snacks among the bluebells. The outside. By bike. The way it should be.

Destination rope swing

And just this week we made two decisions. We came to the agreement that the Shotgun seat has probably been outgrown. It’s going to find a new home. All we’ll need now is the tow rope… and probably a new bike.
We also came to the decision that night riding is awesome and having lights on your bike is sick.
Let’s hope the little adventures never end.