We snaked our way past roots and ruts on the trail, our bike tires spinning off leaf debris. Mud splattered against our backs as we eased our way down to the creek. The creek flowed rapidly now, carving its path against the bank. The once visible rock bed no longer in thirst, nor the weighty ferns sprinkled underneath the looming trees.
We stopped. My daughter unzipped the top tube bag from her bike and reached in to grab the chocolate-covered banana bites she had brought for our mid-ride snack.
“Want one?” she asked me.
Stepping stones connected one bank to the next of the flowing creek.
“Take a photo,” my daughter said.
In my mind I already had.