But we live half an hour's drive from nearly anything except school and the general store, and there is one thing I'm happy to see them do while we ride: read.
"He needs to get off his bike and start riding," reads the slogan.
Riders become more mountain savvy, learning how to plan big rides, read the local conditions and terrain, and carry out repairs on the trail.
If you'd like some historical background for Miller's wild ride, read "The Wildest Ride: How a Bunch of Good Ol Boyss Built a Billion-Dollar Industry Out of Wrecking Cars," by Joe Menzer (Touchstone, $14).
And when one thinks of hikes through leafy, hilly woods, places like Vermont or the Berkshires come to mind, which are both quite a car ride (read: term of captivity) for a Westchester child not exactly waiting with baited breath to see his first bit of orange flutter to the forest floor.
A boat, a bike, a bear, books and a rugby ball - just some items eight-month-old Prince George may one day ride, read or throw.
And then I took a ten-mile training ride (read: beer run) to the local microbrewery.
It began on our Hawaiian honeymoon, when Bruce spent the plane ride reading medical journals and I was awakened at an ungodly hour by this newspaper's magazine section so I could answer questions from a fact checker.
I cherished those quiet rides, reading a book as we bounced along before I was dropped onto the dusty road where I was covered in the cheers and tugs of dozens of boys without families.
Lo and behold, along comes Little Red Riding Hood, reading a fairy tale of her own.
