As our family took a break outside the gates of the Angel Island Immigration Station, we overheard a young man gently chiding his mother. “He’s 23 years old. If he doesn’t want to wear sunblock, he doesn’t want to wear sunblock.”

He must have been referring to his brother, standing a few feet away, who probably had dismissed her reminders to apply.

I smiled to myself. Less than an hour earlier, as we’d been getting ready to take the ferry from Tiburon to Angel Island, our 10-year-old twins, Didi and Gege, also resisted — then relented — allowing me and my husband to smear sunblock onto their faces, a back-and-forth that has gone on since they were toddlers.

“I guess you never stop mothering,” I murmured to my husband.

Although we’ve often glimpsed Angel Island on our adventures around the bay, it was the first time we had visited together. After a 10-minute ferry ride from Tiburon, we embarked clockwise on the 5.5-mile perimeter trail that circles the island.

We’ve biked throughout the pandemic, but this would be the longest ride we’d attempted yet as a family. We hoped that we could make it all the way around, on what seemed like a mostly level path, with a few steep sections.

Unfortunately, to get out of the cove where we landed, we had to push our bicycles up a hill for a bit; Gege has a dirt bike, and without gears, the incline was too difficult to ride.

We promised the boys that soon we’d reach a flat stretch. Soon we’d be cruising along, though we couldn’t guarantee that we wouldn’t encounter more hills later.

It seemed like a metaphor for parenting and for surviving the era of COVID-19.

After huffing up the hill, and some breaks for water and snacks, we could at last sail along, pedaling easily on gentle inclines and dips.

路,为最part, afforded stunning views of the bay; the Golden Gate, Richmond-San Rafael and Bay bridges; Alcatraz Island; San Francisco; and Oakland.

On what might have been one of the last warm days of autumn, sailboats bobbed on the glimmering water. It was exhilarating; I felt like the hawks soaring and dipping on the breeze. The skies were clear, with no smoke from the wildfires whose season thankfully may be coming to an end.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here,” my husband marveled. When something is in your backyard, you can end up taking it for granted, putting off the visit you should consider takingnow.

We rode past the spooky, abandoned buildings of Fort McDowell, including a hospital built in 1911, later converted into barracks during the Cold War, the period in which a regiment manned an antiaircraft battery armed with Nike missiles.

At a time when the world still feels curtailed, I rejoiced that we could find a way to test our limits. A year ago, we probably couldn’t have come this far, and I was excited to consider future possibilities.

As we rounded a bend, another view unfurling below us, I called out to Didi in a voice pitched slightly higher that I reserve when I’m feeling sentimental about kittens, puppies, and, yes … babies.

“Mom, stop!” Didi replied.

I expected him to say that he was no longer a baby, and I shouldn’t talk to him that way. Instead, he said, “You’re too old for that.”

我们笑了。尽管他的头发长长，但他的脚现在与我的尺寸相同，这是在过去一年和半年里面的时间里，他将永远是我的宝贝，在他的双胞胎兄弟后26分钟出生。

I told him I’d save “the voice” for my infant nephew.

We pedaled along, and a minute later, Didi said, “You can use it for me too.”