Standing at the entrance of the Christopher Street PATH station our bike trip had come to a standstill. I doubted I had the upper body strength to carry my Russian tanker of a mountain bike and Savanna’s snazzy Aqua blue Schwinn down those killer stairs. I had two choices: turn back now and send my daughter the message it’s okay to give up, or break my neck trying.
I was ready to offer Savannah ice cream in exchange for nixing the idea of biking in Hoboken when I heard a voice from behind. “Can I get this for ‘ya?” it said.