Once upon a time after Dd1 was born while I was pregnant with DD2 (DD1 is now 16.5 and DD2 will be 14 in 2 months)...my DH decided to follow the dream of his “hobby” (OF COURSE IT WAS FREAKING CYCLING) and ride the “old railway line” to his mum’s house (his childhood home) which was 40 miles away.
The itinerary was set. The time I dropped him off on the outskirts of our city, the time I then left home with Dd1 in the car to reach his mum’s at a similar time, laud his arrival into the village, have a meal, fold all the seats in the car down for his bike and then go home.
OMG. Literally the worst time of my life. 2 weeks of Moaning about muscles and chaffing and “the awful state of the railway line”. Every hour spent “piecing my GOOD BIKE back together” and “needing smaller gears” that don’t exist. Chris Froome doesn’t have those geRs, I doubt a project manager from rural Aberdeenshire needs them.
Genuinely I finally cracked. I said the immortal line which I may have engraved on my tombstone.
“So DH, how is the guy who HELD A GUN TO YOUR HEAD AND MADE YOU DO THIS TRIP GETTING ON”...
And he never mentioned it again.
He brought up how wrecked his gears were a number of times. I genuinely muttered “held a gun to your head did he) and it stopped.
His mum moved to our city 9 years ago. His quest and self inflicted damage, exhaustion and bike wrecking has never again been mentioned.
We now have Dd16, Dd13 and DD10 and this nonsense has stopped