Kids Bike Seat Cover

Kids Bike Seat Cover. Baby Rear Facing Car Seat.

Kids Bike Seat Cover

kids bike seat cover

    seat cover

  • Sometimes used to describe drivers or passengers of four-wheelers.
  • (Seat covers) Trucker slang for attractive women in vehicles as in "Look at the seatcovers in that westbound rollerskate."
  • The vinyl material that covers the part of the bike you sit on.

    kids

  • Deceive (someone) in a playful or teasing way
  • (kid) child: a young person of either sex; "she writes books for children"; "they're just kids"; "`tiddler' is a British term for youngster"
  • (kid) pull the leg of: tell false information to for fun; "Are you pulling my leg?"
  • Deceive or fool (someone)
  • (kid) be silly or tease one another; "After we relaxed, we just kidded around"

    bike

  • bicycle: ride a bicycle
  • A bicycle or motorcycle
  • motorcycle: a motor vehicle with two wheels and a strong frame
  • bicycle: a wheeled vehicle that has two wheels and is moved by foot pedals

kids bike seat cover – CoPilot Model

CoPilot Model A Double Bike Trailer
CoPilot Model A Double Bike Trailer
The 2006 CoPilot trailer is loaded with features that add comfort and versatility to any adventure. CoPilot trailers have thick, plush padding, fully adjustable harnesses and plenty of elbow and leg room so your precious passengers will enjoy the ride. The 2006 CoPilot Model A features a redesigned mounting system and lighter stronger spoked wheels. Cycle or jogging, one kid or two. Doesn’t matter, the Model A has you covered.

The easy-rolling Copilot Model A Bike Trailer enables you to comfortably tow two children as you bike along city streets. It features a redesigned mounting system that’s easy to connect to your bike and lighter, stronger spoked wheels with thorn-resistant tubes. The interior includes thick, plush padding, fully adjustable five-point harness and plenty of elbow and leg room for up to two kids (for a total of 100 pounds). When you’re finished with your biking excursion, the Model A quickly converts to a stroller in just a few seconds, and it disassembles quickly when you reach home. Other features includes brightly colored fabrics that will be highly visible on the road and a storage trunk for extra clothes or groceries.

Born Into This

Born Into This
The stop was located at a park, a short distance from all our homes. We were the Mexicans, the last to be dropped off by the district.
He stood tall a few seats behind me, using his long arms on the seat in front of him to pull himself up. “I’m gonna… k-k-k-kick your ass when we g-g-g-get off the b-b-b-bus,” he said to me, while the bus idled at the last stoplight before the park.
His words sent a shiver down my back. I replied in a cracking voice.
“I don’t wanna fight you, Johnny… I’m not gonna fight you… I didn’t do anything to your brother… just leave me alone.” I told him. The stuttering problem only made him more daunting.
I could hear my uncle Tony’s words like an annoying song you knew the words to and wished you didn’t.
"When you go to jail, you don’t have to be tough, you just have to act tough… and when someone tries to start a fight, even if you don’t want to fight, you have to fight… cause if you don’t, everyone will know you’re a pussy and they’ll wanna kick your ass in front of people to make themselves look tougher. You can’t let them have one up on you like that. I know your not gonna do that, not with our last name, everyone in this barrio knows our family… but still… you gotta throw down when push comes to shove,” he told me, with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, squinting from the smoke, while he combed his hair back in front of a mirror.
The neighborhood wasn’t jail, but we were all bound to something similar.
The banter from all the kids on the bus began to escalate. They were getting louder, the closer we got to the park. People began to imitate what I had said in a high-pitched girlish voice.
“I told you I don’t wanna fight you, Johnny… I’m not gonna fight you… I didn’t do anything to your brother… just leave me alone.”
They all laughed except Johnny. He shook his head as I turned around once more to get a look at him, my stomach turning and palms perspiring.
The light turned green and the driver made the last turn from the busy street into our stop at the park. It came to a slow halt. Everyone rushed off and began to form a circle.
I got off before Johnny did and walked past the hostile crowd. I shoved through them and began walking as fast as I could without actually running.
“Hey you f-f-f-fucker, get your ass b-b-b-back here,” Johnny yelled.
I kept walking, picking up the pace a little, my uncle Tony’s words still ringing in my head, twice as loud as before.
He grabbed me at the shoulder and whipped me around, leveling me just under the chin, my head jerked back like a rag doll. I stood in front of him, listless. I took another two or three like the first. I could hear all the kids screaming and yelling, waving their arms and making ugly faces. I could taste the blood dripping from my nose. Johnny seemed to lose interest. It wasn’t as fun for him if the other person didn’t fight back.
I turned around and began walking home with my head down. I began crying when I had gotten far enough from the mob of hecklers. I cried up until I reached my front door, wiping my cheeks and eyes before entering. I walked past my grandmother who was watching soap operas and smoking cigarettes on the couch.
“Get out of the way,” she yelled while I passed in front of the television.
I slammed the door behind me and turned the radio on. I could hear my grandma screaming from the living room about how I had left the screen door open. I heard her get up from the couch and slam the screen door shut.
I listened to the radio, turning it up with the hope that if it were loud enough I wouldn’t have to hear my uncle Tony’s voice in my head. It only took a day before he found out. Nothing travels faster than a good batch of bad news.

Days later, I was at the park near the house, the same one I had gotten beat up at. I was riding my bike when my uncle Tony yanked me by the shirt, slamming me to the sidewalk, my back and head the first thing to hit the ground. He began punching me in the face and head, “did Johnny hit you that hard or harder? Did he hit you THIS hard?” A barrage of punches continued. “You’re gonna get your ass kicked again, by me, every time I hear you get in a fight and don’t show any heart… and there better not be another time, you hear me?”
I nodded my head and wiped the blood with my hand, rubbing it onto my pants and shirt. “You’re not gonna fuckin’ embarrass us… no fucking way… NO FUCKING WAY! As soon as you see that fool you better handle it another way… I don’t wanna hear about that shit happening twice! I don’t give a shit how tough he is, you hear me?”
I nodded my head. Again, I could taste the blood dripping into my nose and mouth. It was cold and salty, and there was much more of it than when Johnny had punched me. I cried, but not real loud. I knew it would have just aggravated him more. I started to walk home only when he had begun to walk the other direction.
“And don’t leave your bike here!” He screamed.

the lost art of humiliating childhood games

the lost art of humiliating childhood games
As I’m scanning all these photos, I’m reminiscing about my childhood a lot, and how different it is from that of my kids. The kids in this photo are playing musical chairs at my sister’s tenth birthday part (1979). Kids don’t play musical chairs anymore. You know why? Because it hurts feelings.

I know what you’re thinking. There’s a long winded essay coming up here. As Grandpa Simpson would say, I got a funny story about that. Well it’s not so much funny as it is long (and then he’d tie an onion to his belt).

Back in my day, we didn’t worry about self-esteem or agonize over feelings. We didn’t care about elbow pads and cooperative games where everyone was a winner. We played musical chairs at birthday parties and laughed and pointed at the kids left standing. We played dodgeball without sissy rules and our gym teachers coached us to hit the other players where it hurt the most. They don’t even play dodgeball in most schools today. They instead play some games where they learn about teamwork and cooperation. Why? Like those things ever happen in real life? I thought we were supposed to prepare kids for the future.

I watch “Extreme” sports shows and laugh. Extreme? How can anything be extreme if you’re wearing fifteen layers of protective gear while you’re doing it? You want extreme? Try powering a rickety, unstable bicycle going about 50 miles per hour – with your sister riding on the handelbars – down this steep slope that ended in a concrete wall. We called it Brake or Die. No helmets. No knee pads or elbow pads. We didn’t even carry Band-Aids with us. That’s extreme.

We played soccer without headgear. The boys played baseball without cups. We rode in the backs of station wagons, no seat belts. Hanging out the window, waving to strangers. We walked to the store by ourselves. And bought cigarettes for our parents. We rode our bikes after dark. We called each other horrible names and sometimes we had fistfights right on my front lawn and my mother would tell us to shut up because the noise was drowning out Dark Shadows. And when we got up from the fistfight all bloodied and scraped, mom would tell us to stop our crying, slap some Bactine on us and send us back outside. Today? The cops would be there, a psychiatrist would be called in and at least one parent would file a lawsuit.

Oh yea, you saw this coming. In my day we walked to school. Our district was on an austerity budget for years. Walked in the rain, the snow, the sleet and hail. Our parents never drove us because our fathers were at work and our mothers were busy preparing for some fondue themed dinner party where they would all smoke and drink and tell raunchy jokes. So we walked to school. When we got there we learned about history without some P.C. agenda. And we read books in that would be banned in schools today. We sang Christmas and Hannakuh songs in the winter concert and nobody cared.

Self-esteem? We didn’t exist to build up each other’s egos. We were supposed to knock them down. Life was all about rivalries and competition. If a teacher back then ever told us how wonderful and beautiful and special we all were, we would have reported her to the authorities on suspicion of being a pot smoking hippie.

You know when the world went to hell? When Coca Cola decided to teach the world to sing. The second that commercial came out, childhood as we knew it was dead. Parents everywhere were suckered in by the feel-good lyrics. All those who missed the hippie train of the 60’s were going to jump on the Free to be You and Me train of the 70’s, and ride it hard.

Back in my day, kids weren’t sheltered. We were fed the day’s news raw. Our parents took us to see gory, bloody horror movies. We were read fairy tales, grim and perverse and wicked as they were, without remanufactured endings where everyone is beautiful and everyone smiles.

We had real playgrounds with merry-go-rounds and metal slides and wooden see-saws, all placed on concrete. None of this plastic adventure-in-learning crap sitting on a gentle bed of soft wood chips. We had broken noses and we had scabs covering half our bodies. The school nurse would wipe up our blood, throw some Bactine on us and send us back outside for more. Today’s kids get a piece of wood chip dust in their eye and they’re carried to the nurse’s office on a stretcher where they’re handed ten different accident and liability forms to give their parents and forced to sit through a video taped lecture on playground safety, presented by a singing, dancing, man in an elephant costume.

We learned about life with all its cuts and bruises and hurt feelings. We worked hard around the house and yard and built up a work ethic. We earned our allowance and walked half a mile to the candy store where we spent it all on sugary, fattening candy and rolls of caps for our guns. We would point our guns at each other and say things like bang, bang, you’re dead without having a parent yell at us for it.

Who knew that a generation

kids bike seat cover

Bell Gel Base Bicycle Seat Cover
Great for cycling and the gym!

An ideal choice for both long rides around the lake and on the spinner at the gym, the Bell Gel Base Bicycle Seat Cover protects against saddle sores and uncomfortable road and trail vibration. Made with shock absorbing gel, this seat cover increases comfort on any bike saddle and works great for both on- and off-road riding. Other features include a breathable, stretch Lycra cover, and special anti-slip gripping material to ensure the cover stays on the saddle.