Last night I loaded our freshly refinished (in RAL 2004 “pure orange”) dinner table into one of our big, classic rental bakfietsen in order to bring it home. This morning I was then faced with the dilemma of how to both return the bakfiets to the shop AND bring Pascal to his “creche” (daycare center), both about a kilometer or two from home. Do I dare let an almost two year old sit in the 190 x 85cm box untethered, unhelmeted, unpadded, unrollcaged…? After some deliberation with Mama-en-meer we decided that it should be OK, particularly since Pascal has logged enough thousands of cycling kilometers to not have much urge to do anything stupid and terrible-twos-toddler-like. Besides, we figured, the bakfiets has a top speed of about 10km/hr and everybody (even taxis!) gives it a nice, wiiiiiiide berth.
The old table I just painted orange.
So upon arriving at street level instead of Pascal climbing into mama’s cargobike or being lifted onto papa’s Workcycles Fr8 he was propped into the back of the bak, tucked between the moving blankets and my courier bag. I released the parking brake between my legs and rolled off the curb, still curious whether child would just stay where I put him or insist upon “exploring” the nearly two meters of mahogany playground in front of him. I’m happy to report that we figured correctly; Pascal was perfectly happy to sit back near me, feet out front, calling out the “autos”, “cheeps”, “big ships”, “monononos”, “bicipas” and “tjams” as we rode. We got a few approving smiles and no disapproving looks that I could see. Isn’t it unfortunate few kids outside of the Netherlands can have such experiences?