On Sunday afternoon, one of Logan’s mates came over to hang out and play for a few hours.

He’s a great kid and Logan was looking forward to it, but I was slightly concerned when he turned up with a mountain bike.

The two boys played for a while and had a great time, then Logan’s friend asked if they could go on a bike ride in the bush out the back.  Last time he was here, I took Logan and a few other friends on a short hike to a place we call Salt Lake City, which is a strange lake surrounded by very white sand in the middle of the forest.  It’s about a 30 minute walk and my boys love going there.

Logan wanted to go and his friend was excited by the idea, but I couldn’t let them go off by themselves, so I pumped up the tyres on our bikes and went along for a ride.

It wasn’t a long ride, no more than 12 minutes either way, but it’s a bumpy, hilly trail and I was soon regretting it.

Instead of enjoying the exercise on a pleasant Sunday afternoon, I was cursing the ill-fitting helmet, fiddling with the gears and noticing that my rump was getting sorer and sorer.

Now, two days later, I’m still sore, grimacing and groaning every time I change position in my chair.  It’s very uncomfortable and I was really starting to regret agreeing to the ride.

But then, as I reflect, I realise that I don’t regret it.

Sure, I’m uncomfortable now and was slightly inconvenienced on the day, but my son and his mate had a great time.

They were in the beautiful Australian bush, laughing, hanging out and staying fit and healthy.

So, I have a choice.

I can complain and whine and secretly sabotage the bikes so that they can never be used again.

Or I can be grateful for the opportunity to share in their fun, and laugh at my own soreness.

My rump may wish that I has said no, but I’m glad that I said yes.