Riding a bicycle is part of my alternative care.
For me, it's very difficult, but I am still cursing (oops) meant to say cruising and managing, pretending this is easy peasy.
I struggle with adapting because of my various physical challenges, but a visiting friend has patiently helped tweak my bicycle to make it more palatable for this rapidly floundering sack of embattled bones.
Many of my rides are short but other semi sorta longer ones are interspersed with frequent stops to give me a chance to self adjust my body and possibly play with the doggy if terrain permits.
The baskets come in handy for all those stops. I carry an assortment of fascinating gear with me like a puppy dog and his vast accouterments. Harley prefers some of his toys like a tennis ball, golf ball and Frisbee in case we find a spot where he can run and play dragging his leash behind him or if no one is looking, off leash completely.
Life is complicated for a doggy that lives fulltime in campgrounds and RV parks that require him to always be on a leash yet he prefers to run like a bullet. I've limited him to three toys traveling on the bike, but he pretends he can't count preferring to sneakily add to his mobile collection. Besides his toys, sometimes I have to bring a jacket for him or me or both of us. The winds can be cold some days, even though we think they won't be. Add to that bringing the camera, sunglasses, bike lock cable, occasional tool, cell phone (when it works) dog poop bags, keys to the motorhome and well, I guess we take it all with us,
Recently Harley managed to get BoBo aboard who was sitting up front with him in his basket. Harley claimed BoBo was his buddy and therefore not a toy in spite of the fact BoBo suspiciously looked like a faux fur three dimensional cartoon critter which is clearly just another toy.
Try explaining that to a silly puppy.
Another day Harley found a baseball to bring along. He just doesn't get it. Three means three, not four or five or six.
Oh and since I sometimes hit things on the path like a tree trunk or pine cone, Harley now sits on a piece of foam under a tiny throw rug inside his basket. I've accidentally hit stuff so hard it jarred the little fellow something awful, so I found some memory foam in a dumpster that was surprisingly clean. I hacked off a chunk of it then later back at the campsite, a friend helped me cut it down to size for Harley's basket. Now the little spoiled brat doesn't get banged up and bruised if I accidentally ride over lumpy somethings.
If I'm lucky, I have room to bring a water bottle which of course I have to share with the dadgum dog, otherwise I'd have to lug a water bowl for him too. Oh the things we do for our fur babies.
I admire the folks that can hop on a bike to ride miles and miles without carrying all this cargo, but for me having my little buddy along is somewhat fun. Leaving him home locked up alone in a little old motorhome isn't much of a life for an active social dog. I have to stop so often anyhow, might as well have my canine critter for company.
Life is goof.
Fun street names at
Amazing what we see when out riding around.