Biking Puns for Easy Riders: 513 Lines for Bike Paths, Baskets and Sunday Spins

I bike for the fresh air, the exercise and the excuse to buy a basket.

My bike and I have an understanding: it does the rolling, I do the complaining.

Biking is the only way to run errands and still feel like you're skipping school.

I don't need a therapist, I need a bike path and a long afternoon.

My kickstand is the most supportive member of my household.

Every bike ride starts with a plan and ends at an ice cream stand.

I'm not a cyclist, I'm a person who owns a bike and strong opinions about bells.

My bike basket has carried groceries, a puppy and most of my emotional baggage.

Biking downhill is the closest adults get to recess.

My bike is old, slow and squeaky, and we have that in common.

I took the long way home because the short way had a hill.

Biking is walking that found a shortcut.

My bike has three speeds: slow, slower and getting off to push.

A bike ride a day keeps the car keys away.

My bell gets more use than my car horn ever did.

Life is better at handlebar height.

Ring for joy.

Basket full, heart fuller.

Kickstand down, kick back.

Bike path, bliss path.

Spoken for.

Rack and roll.

Handlebar mustache optional.

Pedals, petals, picnics.

Tread lightly.

Gone biking, back by sunset.

Bell-issimo.

Cruise control: on.

Squeaky but sincere.

Two wheels good.

Lock, stock and saddle.

Spin of the day.

Cycle of life.

Frame-worthy.

Chain of command: mine.

Wheel of fortune.

In a reflector-tive mood.

Pump it up.

Mudguard on duty.

Bespoke, literally.

Fender bender, gentle edition.

Bell of the ball.

Gear-ly beloved.

Saddle-ly ever after.

Fully re-cycled.

Slow rider, fast friend.

Spokes-model.

I tried riding with no hands and learned my face is also a brake.

My bike lock code is so secure that I don't know it either.

I asked the bike shop for something fast, and they sold me a bell.

The hill near my house is only steep when I'm on a bike.

My dog chases bikes, so we bought him one, and now he just looks embarrassed.

I got a basket for my bike, and now every errand is a road trip.

I left my bike unlocked for five minutes and came back with a deeper appreciation for locks.

I rode my bike to the gym, then took the elevator to the second floor.

My bike seat and I disagree on what comfortable means.

I biked to the farmers market and bought more than my basket believed in.

I bought a bike to save money and spent it all on accessories.

The squeak in my bike started as an annoyance and is now a family member.

I ring my bell at squirrels, and they never move.

Flat tire, dead phone, melting ice cream: a perfect Saturday.

I biked ten miles today, and most of them were spent looking for somewhere to lock up.

My helmet hair has its own fan club, and it isn't supportive.

Home before the streetlights, as instructed by my inner ten-year-old.

Took the long way, found the bakery.

Basket full of tulips, legs full of jelly.

Rode out for coffee, came back with a whole afternoon.

Wind in my hair, bug in my teeth.

Today's route: lake, ice cream, lake again.

Sunday ride, zero agenda.

Running on pedal power and pastry.

Out for a spin, back with a tan.

Kickstand down, feet up.

Bike path therapy, session complete.

My shadow kept up the whole way.

Squeaky wheels, happy heels.

Rolled home with a full basket and an empty to-do list.

This ride was brought to you by bananas and stubbornness.

Reel: ninety seconds of trees going by, which is the whole point.

Golden hour, rusty bike, perfect light.

Photo dump: bike, basket, bakery, blanket, bike again.

Posting my bike because it's more photogenic than me.

Sunset ride, no filter, slight sunburn.

Swipe to see the duck that blocked the bike path.

My grid now has more bikes than brunches.

One bike, one blanket, one very good sandwich.

Bike leaned on a fence for aesthetic purposes only.

Spoke-n for: this view.

Living for the slow lane.

Story highlight: lost on purpose.

Credits: my legs, my bike and the tailwind on the way back.

Ride report: three dogs petted, two hills walked, one perfect sunset.

Flower-filled basket, film-camera vibes.

Spinning into the weekend at a very relaxed cadence.

A slow bike race is the only competition where finishing first means you lost.

Charity rides: pedaling for a good cause and a free T-shirt.

I entered the bike race for the medal and stayed for the orange slices.

Kids' bike races end the moment the first rider spots a puddle.

The cul-de-sac grand prix is decided by whoever has the loudest bell.

My race strategy: start slow, then taper off.

Every fun ride has a winner, and it's whoever reaches the snack table first.

I didn't come last, I was protecting the group from behind.

Bike races are won on the hills and lost at the water station.

Photo finish? My finish was more of a short film.

The start horn sounded, and my chain immediately requested leave.

Race number pinned on, nerves pinned down.

Our club's sprint finish is mostly elbows and apologies.

I trained for months and peaked at the registration desk.

The real race is getting to the free pizza after the event.

Spoke Easy

The Kickstanders

Basket Cases

Bell Ringers United

Wheel Good Time

Pedal Pals

The Slow Roll Society

Cruise Missiles

Handlebar Mustache Club

Two-Tired Tourists

The Fender Benders

Tour de Neighborhood

Gear Pressure

Spin Sisters

Chainy Day Fund

Cranky Riders

A Sunday ride has no destination, just a bakery in the general direction.

Slow rolling is the art of biking without the exercise part.

We took the scenic route on purpose and got lost by accident.

My Sunday ride covers four miles and three conversations with strangers' dogs.

Coasting is my favorite gear.

The best part of a lazy ride is stopping to look at things that aren't interesting.

I don't track my rides, I remember them.

Sunday rides are measured in smiles per hour.

Leisure biking: the only thing I'm racing is the sunset.

We stopped more than we rode, and the ride was perfect.

My bike knows the way to the lake better than I do.

No watch, no map, no problem.

Ride slowly enough and the whole street says hello.

A meandering ride is a walk with wheels and better posture.

Sunday rides end when someone says one more stop, so they never actually end.

A beach cruiser has one gear, and it's relaxed.

My cruiser's handlebars are wider than my plans for the day.

Balloon tires exist because sand deserves respect.

A wicker basket turns any bike into a picnic on wheels.

My bell plays a single note, and it's always a happy one.

Beach cruisers don't go fast, they go fondly.

Coaster brakes: pedal backward, stop forward.

The boardwalk speed limit is a number my cruiser will never reach.

My cruiser is mint green and fully booked for sunsets.

Cruisers are the convertibles of the bike world.

I painted flowers on my fenders, and now bees follow me.

My bike bell is the only alarm I enjoy hearing.

A cruiser with a basket can carry a towel, a book and a whole mood.

Streamers on grown-up bikes should be legally required.

Beach cruiser, beach snoozer.

On your left is the nicest thing anyone says on a bike path.

A bike path is a hallway for the whole city.

Ringing a bell twice is polite. Ringing it ten times is a song.

Greenways are where cars go to be jealous.

The bike path through the park has more ducks than rules.

Rail trails turned old train tracks into the slowest express route in town.

Path etiquette: pass on the left, wave on the right, apologize in the middle.

Every bike path has one jogger with headphones and a bell-proof attitude.

I follow painted bike lines like they're a treasure map.

The canal path is flat, scenic and full of geese with opinions.

Bike paths are proof that cities can be friendly.

A painted bike symbol is the city saying we see you, sort of.

The best detour is a bike path you didn't know existed.

Shared paths teach patience, timing and the art of the gentle ding.

Bike-share bikes weigh roughly as much as a small car, and they're proud of it.

Docking a shared bike is a test of patience, wrist strength and faith.

The rental bike had one speed and three opinions.

Every vacation rental bike comes with a squeak and a story.

I unlocked a shared bike with an app and felt like I'd hacked the city.

The last bike at the station always has a wobble.

Renting a tandem on vacation is the fastest way to find out who's in charge.

Bike share is borrowing freedom by the minute.

The docking station was full, so I rode around the block twice, very slowly.

E-bike rentals turn every hill into a highlight.

Rental bike seats adjust, but only in directions you don't want.

The rental shop said bring it back by six, and the sunset said stay.

City bikes come in one color and one mood: sturdy.

Tourist on a rental bike: map in one hand, gelato in the other, prayers in between.

My bike lock is so heavy I need a second bike to carry it.

Locking up properly means frame, wheel and hope.

A single front wheel locked to a rack is the saddest poem in the city.

My bike was stolen, and the thief left the lock, which felt personal.

The lock cost more than the bike, and the bike knows it.

U-locks exist because U deserve to find your bike where you left it.

My lock combination is my birthday, so please don't celebrate me in public.

I forgot my lock and spent the afternoon guarding my bike like a nervous parent.

Bike thieves hate this one trick: owning a very ugly bike.

A cable lock is mostly a strongly worded suggestion.

I registered my bike's serial number, so now it has better paperwork than I do.

I locked my bike outside the café and watched it like a guard dog the whole time.

My bike has a lock, a tracking tag and trust issues.

Lock the wheel but not the frame, and you'll keep a wheel.

A family bike ride is two miles of riding and forty minutes of snack negotiations.

Our family ride has one rule: nobody leaves the slowest rider behind, even Dad.

The trailer behind my bike carries a toddler, a dog or groceries, depending on who's loudest.

Kids on balance bikes are faster than they have any right to be.

Family ride pace is whatever speed the youngest is having a good day at.

Every family ride includes one emergency bathroom stop and one meltdown, not always the kid's.

Tag-along bikes let kids pedal when they feel like it, which is never uphill.

The cargo bike is our family minivan, minus the parking problems.

Bike seat for the baby, basket for the snacks, bell for the joy.

Our ride to the park takes ten minutes, and getting everyone into helmets takes twenty.

My kids rate every bike ride by the quality of the ice cream at the end.

Family bike rides build character, mostly in the parent carrying the scooter.

We counted cows on our family ride, and the cows were unimpressed.

Grandma rides a trike, and she still leads the pack.

Family biking: one road, five speeds, one destination and endless questions.

Learning to ride is mostly a parent running bent over while holding a seat.

The moment a parent lets go is the moment a kid becomes a legend.

Balance bikes skip the training wheels and go straight to bragging rights.

Every kid's first ride ends with a wobble, a grin and a bush.

I taught my kid to ride, and now I can't catch her.

Training wheels are the original life hack.

Learning to ride as an adult is brave, wobbly and completely worth it.

My son's first words on two wheels were don't let go, followed by why did you let go.

First ride without help: three seconds of freedom and a lifetime of stories.

Dad ran beside the bike so long he trained for a 5K by accident.

Scraped knees are the receipts for learning to ride.

An empty parking lot is every new rider's first stadium.

You never forget how to ride a bike, but your knees will remind you how long it's been.

Learning to brake comes after learning to go, which is why the hedge needs replanting.

Grandpa's three-speed has three gears: slow, nostalgic and stuck.

A vintage bike creaks like it's telling stories from the seventies.

I found a bike in the garage that's older than my parents and in better shape.

Rust is just a vintage bike's way of aging gracefully.

Banana seats and high-rise handlebars were the original lowrider luxury.

Steel frames don't age, they mature.

The old bike in the barn has more character than the new one in the shop.

Restoring a vintage bike is ninety percent cleaning and ten percent falling in love.

My retro bike has a bell, a basket and strong opinions about modern brakes.

Vintage bike shops smell like oil, leather and good decisions.

A leather saddle takes years to break in and then lasts a lifetime, like most friendships.

Old bikes don't need upgrades, they need appreciation.

My grandmother's bike still has her name painted on it, and the confidence to match.

Garage-find bikes come with free spiders.

Riding in the rain without fenders earns you a brown racing stripe up your back.

Puddles are the bike path's way of testing your commitment.

A rain jacket on a bike keeps you dry for the first six minutes.

Fenders are the umbrellas of the bike world.

Rainy rides come with free splash effects.

I biked through a puddle and the puddle won.

Wet brakes are suggestions with extra squeak.

Rain on a bike ride is nature's sprinkler with no off switch.

My waterproof shoes collect water so efficiently they could supply a garden.

The best part of a rainy ride is the hot shower afterward.

Rain ride rule: if you're already wet, aim for the puddles.

Drizzle is the sky asking if I'm serious about this ride.

My chain sings a squeaky song after every rainy ride.

Wet leaves on the bike path are banana peels in disguise.

My dog rides in the bike basket like a tiny furry tour guide.

Dogs in bike baskets are the happiest passengers in the world.

My dog barks at every bike except mine, which feels like loyalty.

A dog in a basket turns any ride into a parade.

My cat refused the basket, filed a complaint and went back to sleep.

The dog trailer behind my bike gets more compliments than I do.

Dog on board: please ring your bell gently.

My puppy's ears flap like flags on every downhill.

Dogs running beside bikes are the ultimate pace setters.

Every basket dog wears the expression of a celebrity in a convertible.

My dog thinks the bike pump is a dangerous animal.

I slow down for every dog on the bike path, mostly to say hello.

The squirrel crossing the bike path does not care about your right of way.

Geese on the bike path are toll collectors nobody asked for.

My tire has a slow leak, just like my motivation on Mondays.

A floor pump is the only gym equipment my tires actually use.

I squeeze my tires before every ride like I'm picking avocados.

A flat tire is the bike's way of saying it needs a moment.

Schrader or Presta? My pump says neither, and my mood agrees.

Thorn-resistant tires exist because nature is pointy.

The air pump at the gas station is the last free thing in the world.

My tires are so soft I'm basically riding pillows.

A tire patch is a tiny bandage with big responsibility.

I bought puncture-resistant tires and immediately found the one nail on the bike path.

Valve caps are the first thing to vanish and the last thing anyone replaces.

My tire went flat in the exact middle of nowhere, which is the most scenic place to wait.

Underinflated tires turn a quick ride into leg day.

The pfft of a tire going flat is the saddest song a bike can sing.

Finding bike parking downtown is a scavenger hunt with no prize.

Every bike rack has one bike that's been there since 2014.

Wave racks were designed for art and occasionally for bikes.

A full bike rack outside a café is the best review a café can get.

I parked my bike so artistically it became a public sculpture.

Indoor bike storage means the hallway, the closet and my partner's patience.

Hanging a bike on the wall turns it into art and the ceiling into a risk.

Beach bike racks fill up faster than the parking lot.

The bike valet at the festival treated my rusty cruiser like a sports car.

My apartment's bike room has more bikes than residents.

Bike parking outside the grocery store is a fence with ambitions.

Wall hooks make bikes look like they're sleeping upside down.

The ugliest bike on the rack is always the safest.

I locked my bike to the only tree, and so did everyone else.

A baguette sticking out of a bike basket is the most European I'll ever look.

Grocery runs on a bike require planning, physics and gentle eggs.

Panniers turn my bike into a pack mule with better posture.

I biked to the store for milk and came back with a watermelon, somehow.

Bike errands make every trip feel like a mission.

The farmers market is twice as charming when you arrive by bike.

Carrying a pizza on a bike is the ultimate balancing act.

My cargo bike has carried a Christmas tree and my reputation.

Every basket shopping trip ends with a loaf of bread playing peekaboo.

Bungee cords are the unsung heroes of grocery biking.

I biked to the post office, and the line moved slower than my ride.

Library books in the basket and sun on my face: peak Saturday.

Biking to the hardware store is a puzzle when you need a ladder.

The croissants stay flaky if you ride gently over the bumps.

My bike has more lights than my house does during the holidays.

Reflective vests are the only outfit that looks better in headlights.

A night ride is the city whispering instead of shouting.

My rear light blinks like it's sending me Morse code.

Spoke lights turn my wheels into a moving disco.

Riding under a full moon makes every street feel like a movie set.

My headlight is so bright the bugs RSVP.

Night rides come with crickets as background music.

I forgot to charge my light, so tonight's ride has a strict curfew.

Fireflies on the bike path are tiny escort vehicles.

Reflective ankle bands are jewelry for safety-minded riders.

Glow-in-the-dark tires make my bike look like it's levitating.

The darker the path, the louder my bell gets.

Bike touring is camping with extra steps and much stronger calves.

My loaded touring bike handles like a shopping cart full of ambition.

Bikepacking means everything I own fits in three bags and a positive attitude.

Tent, stove, sleeping bag, snacks: my bike is a studio apartment on wheels.

Tour diaries are ninety percent weather reports and ten percent pie.

A touring bike is a turtle that carries its house and still climbs hills.

Every bike tour has one day of rain, one day of wind and one day that makes it all worth it.

Small-town diners are the gas stations of bike touring.

I biked across the state and remember every single hill.

My handlebar bag is my office, my pantry and my map room.

Touring friendships are forged at campsites and sealed over instant noodles.

Long-distance riders measure days in towns, not hours.

My bike is carrying more than I am, and it complains less.

Bikepacking: hiking felt too slow and driving felt too easy.

My bike seat and my backside are no longer on speaking terms.

A gel seat cover is a hug for a very specific body part.

Wide seats for comfort, narrow seats for speed, standing up for honesty.

The first ride of spring reminds every part of me that winter happened.

I raised my seat, and now I'm three inches taller and ten times wobblier.

Cruiser seats are basically armchairs on wheels.

Sprung saddles bounce like they've had too much coffee.

A properly adjusted seat is the difference between a ride and a regret.

My bike seat has a tear, and so do I after a long ride.

Padded shorts aren't fashion, they're diplomacy.

If your seat's too low, every ride turns into a squat workout.

Leather saddles mold to you, which is a kind of commitment I respect.

I bought a fancy saddle and now sit on it like a throne.

Every bike path leads back to you, even the ones with geese.

You're the basket to my bike, I'd feel empty without you.

Want to take a spin around the park, and maybe around the rest of my life?

You make my heart ring like a brand-new bell.

I'd share my bike seat with you, and that's saying something.

Our love is like a beach cruiser: slow, steady and in absolutely no rush.

You must be a downhill stretch, because everything gets easier around you.

Will you be the kickstand to my wobbly heart?

I like you more than a fresh basket of croissants.

Our first date was a bike ride, and we've been rolling together ever since.

You're my favorite riding partner and my favorite reason to stop.

Every ride is better with you beside me ringing your bell for no reason.

I'd bike uphill for you, slowly, with breaks, but I'd do it.

You put the spring in my pedal stroke.

Can I borrow your bike pump? You've taken my breath away.

Why did the bike bell get a promotion? It always rang up results.

What do you call a bicycle that tells jokes? A pun-cycle.

Why did the old bicycle visit the doctor? It had a bad case of rust-lessness.

Why do bikes love music? Every one of them has its own pedalboard.

What did the kickstand say to the bike? Lean on me.

Why did the beach cruiser stay calm? It knew how to coast through problems.

What do you call a bike in winter? A brrr-cycle.

Why do bike baskets make great friends? They'll always carry you.

What's a bike's favorite fairy tale? Handle and Gretel.

What do you call a bicycle made of cheese? A brie-cycle.

What does a cow ride on weekends? A moo-ntain bike.

Why did the bike take a nap? It was feeling a little flat.

What's a bicycle's favorite snack? A wheel of cheese.

Why did the tricycle win the argument? It had three good points.

What do you call a bicycle that lives in the ocean? A sea-cycle.

Why can't a bicycle stand up on its own? It's two-tired, and honestly, so am I.

The bike that was two-tired finally got a kickstand and a nap.

My bicycle is two-tired, my unicycle is just tired and my tricycle is well rested.

Why did the bike fall over? It finally admitted it was two-tired of standing.

Why couldn't the bicycle find its way home? It lost its bearings.

Why do bikes make bad comedians? Their jokes always fall flat.

What did the bicycle say to the kickstand? Thanks for always having my back.

Why was the bicycle so good at its job? It was always wheel-ing to help.

Why do bicycles never win arguments? They keep going around in circles.

Why did the bike get shushed at the library? It kept ringing its bell.

What happens when a bike gets old? It retires, twice.

Why did the tire break up with the road? It felt too much pressure.

Why are bicycles so humble? They know they can't stand on their own.

Knock knock. Who's there? Basket. Basket who? Basket nicely and maybe I'll open the door.

Knock knock. Who's there? Handle. Handle who? Handle-ver the snacks and nobody gets hurt.

Knock knock. Who's there? Fender. Fender who? Fender yourself, I'm coming in.

Knock knock. Who's there? Rack. Rack who? Rack-on you'll let me in now?

Knock knock. Who's there? Pump. Pump who? Pump-kin pie's ready, let me in.

Knock knock. Who's there? Trike. Trike who? Trike the doorbell next time, I've been knocking for ages.

Knock knock. Who's there? Ride. Ride who? Ride on time for dinner, aren't I?

Knock knock. Who's there? Lock. Lock who? Lock-y for you, I brought cookies.

Knock knock. Who's there? Crank. Crank who? Crank up the heat, it's freezing out here.

Knock knock. Who's there? Path. Path who? Path me the remote when I come in.

Knock knock. Who's there? Coast. Coast who? Coast is clear, let me in.

Birthday wish: smooth paths, cold lemonade and a basket full of presents.

Another year of adventures on two wheels, here's to the next lap.

Wishing you a birthday full of bike paths, sunshine and zero hills.

Hope your birthday basket is overflowing.

Happy birthday to my favorite riding buddy and snack supplier.

Gift tag: a basket, because you carry the rest of us anyway.

Gift tag: a bike light, so you always shine.

Thank you for teaching me to ride and running behind me the whole way.

Retired at last: the alarm clock is gone, and the bike is staying.

Heal up fast, your bike has been asking about you.

Congratulations on your new bike, may every ride be a joyride.

Happy Mother's Day to the woman who taught me balance, on bikes and in life.

Happy graduation, the training wheels are officially off.

Season's greetings from our bike basket to yours.

Life is a ride, so you might as well get a basket.

Ride often, ride slowly, ride home before dinner.

Happiness is a bike, a path and nowhere to be.

The road ahead is long, but the bakery is close.

The best conversations happen two bikes wide.

Freedom fits in a bike basket.

Balance isn't something you find, it's something you pedal toward.

The hill is temporary, the view is forever.

Ride where the wind takes you, then ride back against it, wiser.

Two wheels move the body, and a good ride moves the soul.

Every bike has a story, and most of them involve a hill.

Keep your eyes up, your bell ready and your snacks reachable.

When in doubt, pedal it out.

Don't count the miles, count the moments, and maybe the ice creams.

My steed has two wheels, one bell and zero interest in oats.

In Australia a bike is a treadly, and mine is a very tired treadly.

It's called a push bike because I push it up every hill.

Calling your bike your wheels makes a rusty cruiser sound like a sports car.

A fixie rider can't coast, but they can lecture.

Roadies wear Lycra, and casual riders wear whatever was closest to the door.

A two-wheeler is the first vehicle most of us ever owned, and still the best.

My ride is a 1990s hybrid, and it has started calling itself vintage.

Bike people call a nice bike a whip, and mine is more of a gentle swat.

A beater bike is the one you don't mind locking outside a concert.

A bike shed is where bikes go to gossip about their owners.

A tallbike is a regular bike that never stopped growing.

A Frankenbike is built from five old bikes and one bold idea.

Velo sounds fancy, but it's just French for the same squeaky thing.

Pedal on in, we're open.

Come for the coffee, stay for the cranks.

We fix bikes, not your bad jokes.

Tune-ups: because your bike has feelings too.

Air is free. Advice is cheap. Bells are on sale.

Our bikes are on sale, our puns are free.

Flat? We've got you covered, and patched.

Bike parking for customers, emotional support for hills.

Rest stop: refuel your legs, recharge your bell.

Today's special: a basket of croissants and a free tire check.

No bike left behind.

Lock it like you love it.

Garage rules: helmets on, kickstands down, stories mandatory.

Welcome, riders. Leave your stress at the rack.

Gravel paths crunch like breakfast cereal under my tires.

The trail sign says easy, and my legs say it's all relative.

A gentle trail ride is a nature walk with a bell.

Gravel gets into places gravel has no business being.

Forest paths make my bike feel like it's in a storybook.

Tree roots on the trail are nature's speed bumps.

I stopped on the trail for a photo and forgot I was exercising.

Riding through a field of wildflowers is my idea of high performance.

The trail map said one hour, which in casual-rider time means three with lunch.

Dirt on the bike means the day was a good one.

A bridge over a creek is the most cinematic part of any ride.

My hybrid is happy on paths, nervous on rocks and terrified of mud.

Casual trail riders don't shred, we meander with intent.

Spring cleaning starts with finding the bike behind the lawnmower.

Summer rides come with sunscreen, sweat and a popsicle stop.

Fall rides are crunchy leaves and pumpkin-spice tailwinds.

Winter biking: three layers, two gloves and one very red nose.

Studded tires turn ice into a suggestion.

On the first warm day of the year, every bike in town comes out of hibernation.

Biking in autumn is like riding through a postcard.

Summer evenings were invented for slow bike rides.

My bike hibernates in winter, and so do my leg muscles.

Snow on the bike path means a peaceful ride and a very cautious one.

Spring showers mean muddy fenders and happy flowers.

Heat waves make the ice cream stop mandatory, not optional.

Every season has its ride, and winter's just takes more socks.

Biking to school is the only time homework gets fresh air.

The school bike rack is where friendships start and locks get forgotten.

My backpack is so heavy my bike asks for hazard pay.

Bike to School Day is the crossing guard's busiest and happiest morning.

Racing the school bus home is undefeated childhood fun, as long as you stay on the path.

A bike with a bell and streamers is the coolest ride in the third grade.

Late for school? Pedal faster than the bell rings.

The bike bus is a parade of kids, helmets and one tired parent at the back.

Biking to school means arriving awake, alert and slightly windblown.

My kid's bike has more stickers than miles, and that's fine.

The school bike rack has a strict hierarchy: BMX on the left, sparkly on the right.

Teachers can always tell which students biked in by the helmet hair.

A field trip by bike means permission slips, snacks and a lot of head counting.

Biking home from school is the official start of the weekend, even on a Tuesday.

I tried to fix my bike's squeak, and now it squeaks in a different key.

Dad doesn't need a bike map, he has a bike instinct, which is how we ended up at the dump.

I'm teaching my bike to stand on its own. We're taking it one kickstand at a time.

Dad's bike has one gear, one bell and one story he tells every time he rides it.

I said I'd fix the bike tire in five minutes, and it's been five weekends.

Dad calls the bike pump his weightlifting equipment.

Dad says he oils the chain so often because it keeps the conversation smooth.

Dad's idea of a long bike ride is to the mailbox and back, with a rest.

Dad bought a helmet with a visor, and now he thinks he's a race car driver.

My bike makes a clicking noise, and Dad says that means it's thinking.

Dad hangs the bikes in the garage like trophies he's afraid to use.

Dad's advice for biking uphill: think about the downhill.

I named my bike Dad, because it makes noises every time it gets going.