With the languid days of late summer going a bit longer than expected with the teachers’ strike, it’s been a tad of a struggle finding activities for the kids.
That would be an understatement, but then hopefully next week our young minions will be at their desks ready to learn.
In the meantime, the extended break has allowed my family to explore a new activity. Well, it isn’t exactly that new…
Around since the late-’60s, early-‘70s, bicycle motocross, or BMX as it is better known, has grown from the days of mullets, upright handlebars and banana seats to an all-inclusive sport that does not discriminate on gender, age or ability. And the bikes and uniforms required for the sport have streamlined with the times. Gone are the mullets, replaced by full-face helmets, and light-weight freewheeler (no gears) bikes.
It’s a sport my husband embarked on when he was a kid, growing up in Sydney, Australia.
In fact, I have a photo of him with his high handle-barred bike, fluffy hair, and fancy patterned, slim-fitting poly-blend pants (he even picked out the fabric, and had his mom sew them up), looking like the cat who ate a canary. (He must have won his race that day.)
And now my six-year-old son is hooked on BMX.
This is a kid who could barely balance on training wheels last year, was scared of riding, and who now can’t be stopped pedalling mercilessly around the roller coaster dirt track at Vernon’s Ranger Park every week.
This is a kid who now sweats profusely in his Darth Vader-like helmet (embossed in a cool design) hours before Monday evening practices and Tuesday night races even begin.
It’s really hard to feed him his dinner, but oh well.
The races have become our weekly family outing, and the passion for the sport is rather infectious even for us watching from the bleachers. It’s quite something to see girls and boys from the age of two on up to 45-plus giving their all.
Especially fun is seeing the little legs of the youngest riders scrambling up the hills on those pedal-less strider bikes, and the expert riders catching air over obstacles, and winding around berms so effortlessly, you’d think they were weightless.
Also noticeable are how many ponytails are flying under those helmets. It’s the only way you can really gauge who the female riders are, well, except for the short-haired girls and those boys with long hair. Many of the females race in the same motos (heats) as the boys, and I have observed a few crossing the finish line in first place.
In fact, there is one rider in particular that my son really looks up to, and she happens to be one of the top female racers for her age group in North America (shout out to Shylo!)
Credit has to go to all the volunteers, many of whom are parents, who welcome new people, especially the dazed and confused ones like me, into the club with open arms.
And what it does for our kids is what sport should be; not about who wins or loses, but what it does for confidence.
An example of this came on my son’s first-ever race. Riding on the half-track (which does not involve leaving from the starting gate), he finished the three rounds of motos required to reach third place, and was next presented with this giant trophy.
It turns out, new kids receive this kind of encouragement. They may not get giant trophies every race, but they do receive points, and the stickers that state where they’ve placed every week. And no matter how they do, they get tons of high fives from their peers, the expert racers, and the gallery –the best reward.
Now racing from the starting gate, the boy is on cloud nine even when he comes in fourth.
It almost makes me want to strap on one of those Darth Vader helmets, and hop on a freewheeler, and ride on up into the sunset. Almost.
