About 25 yards in, the moaning and groaning started. And not just from me.
The handlebars were hurting. His back was aching. He couldn't keep it balanced with all the rocks. His helmet was tilting. His foot was aching. He was getting hot. He was tired. He was hungry.
Halfway down, he was dragging his scooter behind him, scaring away birds and disturbing all of the zen walkers with his huffing and puffing. I actually had to bribe them with popsicles once we got home just to get them to pose and fake smile for these shots.
Saia, however, knows exactly how this game works. And the more frustrated I'm getting with him, the more she suddenly begins to enjoy our outing. She's no longer complaining. She's smiling and pointing out things to look at. She's even singing songs and gliding along on her scooter as if she were walking on air.
Meanwhile, he's in full meltdown mode by the time we make the turnaround to come back. He's asking for a taxi. He wants me to carry him. He refuses, flat out refuses to get back on that thing, which he proceeds to throw and kick at least twice. The only thing that seemed to work to pull him out of it was allowing them to collect disgusting goose feathers, which they then implanted into their helmet, called themselves "scooterbirds," and grossed everyone out on the walk back.
But, you know, whatever works.