(This post's title is one of the “cute” titles that, as I wrote yesterday, I normally try to avoid; now you know why I try to avoid them.)

As I wrote last week, Anthony has learned to ride a bike. Today we went out for a ride on the sidewalks around town, and he rode for extended periods without my direct help. I wanted to be right there, so I trotted/ran alongside him like a Secret Service agent running alongside the President's car. It was quite a workout.

Nearing home, we stopped by a park with a big oval walkway, and I told him to go around it all by himself. He wasn't keen on the idea of me not being beside him, but I told him I'd remain in the park, so he gave it a try. He started off all by himself, and did one circuit without problem.

As he approached, he was all smiles and said he wanted to continue, so he did for another circuit. Approaching the end of the second time around, he told me that I didn't have to stand there, and that I could go sit down. So I did, and watched him go around, and around, and around.

He wanted me to pretend it was a race, so each time he passed, I talked like an announcer, saying that Anthony was winning the race and going “super fast.”

I lost exact count, but he went 17 or 18 times around the thing – well over two miles' worth – without touching his feet to the ground. Coincidentally, that's pretty much exactly what he did the first time he rode the bike (with training wheels). This time, though, I got to enjoy it from the comfort of a park bench.

After that 17th or 18th circuit, he said he wanted to go to the playground, so he just continued no-stop in that direction as if he'd been riding all his life.

After a while on the swing, we went back to the oval-track park and he rode again, this time in the snow.

As the snow was letting up, he decided to head home, but first I asked for his “I'm Proud That I Can Ride a Bike” pose...