I remember hearing – and dreading – the word “no” and its derivatives from an early age: “Don’t touch that” or “Too dangerous” or “No, you cannot race dirt bikes.”

Yet I heard the word less frequently than today’s kids. Parents are under more pressure than ever to keep their children safe, and often the simplest way is to hold the little ones close or hover nearby, always ready to snatch them out of harm’s way.

Of course, you would never let your offspring near a motorcycle. Or would you?

I recently tried out a bike with a sidecar that led me to share the riding experience – and perhaps a bit of midlife crisis – with our young sons.

The Ural Gear Up Sahara that I borrowed for a weeklong test-ride is the top model from IMZ Ural, a Russian motorcycle maker that has been turning out rugged models with sidecars since World War II. In the past few years the company has taken aim at the U.S. market, pitching the vehicle’s utility and toughness.

I used the rig (sidecar enthusiasts call them “rigs” or “hacks”) to run errands and ferry my 9-year-old son, Ben, to school and other activities. He bonded with the desert-sand-colored bike like a new pet. My older boy, Sam, a seventh-grader in all his tween glory, was less enamored. He said the sidecar too closely resembled “a baby carriage,” so we stuck with the car for his ride to school.

We live in Montclair, New Jersey, where as in many suburbs, the car is king. Anyone getting around by nonstandard means is bound to turn heads, and people gathered for a closer look every time we parked the rumbling sidecar. That was fine with Ben, who is going through a stage in which he loves attention.

As we parked in front of a local café one afternoon, a group of high school boys gave us the thumbs-up.

“I like it,” one of them said. I recognize a rave when I hear one.

Another day we took the Ural grocery shopping, stopped at the bookstore and picked up pumpkins from a church sale. Mundane outings grow into events when you are traveling by sidecar.

Ben’s classmates in the drop-off line at school were envious, as were many parents – at least those who weren’t appalled. It is awkward explaining that the sidecar has no seatbelt, especially when you are talking with people whose minivans and SUVs may carry as many as 10 airbags. Clearly an accident with the Ural could be terrifying, but I was willing to take the chance after weighing the risk against the fun factor.

The trip to Ben’s evening fencing class, about 20 minutes away in the next town, was my favorite. The winding roads that make up the route over wooded hills and around a reservoir are ideal for the Ural. Their low speed limits suit the bike, which doesn’t really like to go fast. Its transmission has just four forward gears when most modern bikes have six. A loud clunk accompanies each gear change, and shifting into top gear brings about the type of mechanical whine I last heard while driving an Army cargo truck in 1991. The bike is primitive but endearing, like a reliable old tractor.

As we chug along at a happy 35 to 40 miles per hour, my son sits back in the padded sidecar seat enjoying the breeze, taking in the scenery and spotting deer in the woods. He pats my knee and points to the animals near the road or standing in driveways and front yards. Mostly, though, he is quiet and still, perhaps deep in thought. He seems to have forgotten I’m there, and that’s fine.

On the way home in the dark, with the temperature dropping and traffic thinning, we do not attempt to chat over the growling engine. We listen to the tires humming against the asphalt. The deer disappear in the shadows. It is a lovely ride.

Ben has always been a bit of a risk taker. As an infant in diapers he scraped his legs while trying to climb jagged rocks at the beach. He still has the scars. He had a sixth sense for finding every electrical outlet. He hates to use his booster seat in the car. I found myself saying “No, Ben” so often that I worried about crushing his spirit of adventure.

The out-in-the-breeze experience of riding in the sidecar seems to suit Ben. He realizes that the rig is nowhere near as safe as the car, but much more exciting. For me the machine is fun to ride and helps me make the case that I am not just another uptight, authoritarian father.

At least part of the Ural’s appeal stems from the need some of us feel to introduce a little danger into our kids’ lives as a way to prove we are not overprotective “helicopter” parents. I grew up in the 1970s and ’80s when it seemed parents had things to do other than monitor their children’s activities. My friends and I got into all sorts of after-school mischief, much of which was, in the long run, harmless.

Today we want to show our children a good time, to be part of the fun. Navigating potential hazards at what seems like a reasonable rate — without looking like a control freak — can be difficult, especially when motorcycling and other high-risk activities are involved.

But a sidecar bike makes it relatively easy.I remember hearing – and dreading – the word “no” and its derivatives from an early age: “Don’t touch that” or “Too dangerous” or “No, you cannot race dirt bikes.”

Yet I heard the word less frequently than today’s kids. Parents are under more pressure than ever to keep their children safe, and often the simplest way is to hold the little ones close or hover nearby, always ready to snatch them out of harm’s way.

Of course, you would never let your offspring near a motorcycle. Or would you?

I recently tried out a bike with a sidecar that led me to share the riding experience – and perhaps a bit of midlife crisis – with our young sons.

The Ural Gear Up Sahara that I borrowed for a weeklong test-ride is the top model from IMZ Ural, a Russian motorcycle maker that has been turning out rugged models with sidecars since World War II. In the past few years the company has taken aim at the U.S. market, pitching the vehicle’s utility and toughness.

I used the rig (sidecar enthusiasts call them “rigs” or “hacks”) to run errands and ferry my 9-year-old son, Ben, to school and other activities. He bonded with the desert-sand-colored bike like a new pet. My older boy, Sam, a seventh-grader in all his tween glory, was less enamored. He said the sidecar too closely resembled “a baby carriage,” so we stuck with the car for his ride to school.

We live in Montclair, New Jersey, where as in many suburbs, the car is king. Anyone getting around by nonstandard means is bound to turn heads, and people gathered for a closer look every time we parked the rumbling sidecar. That was fine with Ben, who is going through a stage in which he loves attention.

As we parked in front of a local café one afternoon, a group of high school boys gave us the thumbs-up.

“I like it,” one of them said. I recognize a rave when I hear one.

Another day we took the Ural grocery shopping, stopped at the bookstore and picked up pumpkins from a church sale. Mundane outings grow into events when you are traveling by sidecar.

Ben’s classmates in the drop-off line at school were envious, as were many parents – at least those who weren’t appalled. It is awkward explaining that the sidecar has no seatbelt, especially when you are talking with people whose minivans and SUVs may carry as many as 10 airbags. Clearly an accident with the Ural could be terrifying, but I was willing to take the chance after weighing the risk against the fun factor.

The trip to Ben’s evening fencing class, about 20 minutes away in the next town, was my favorite. The winding roads that make up the route over wooded hills and around a reservoir are ideal for the Ural. Their low speed limits suit the bike, which doesn’t really like to go fast. Its transmission has just four forward gears when most modern bikes have six. A loud clunk accompanies each gear change, and shifting into top gear brings about the type of mechanical whine I last heard while driving an Army cargo truck in 1991. The bike is primitive but endearing, like a reliable old tractor.

As we chug along at a happy 35 to 40 miles per hour, my son sits back in the padded sidecar seat enjoying the breeze, taking in the scenery and spotting deer in the woods. He pats my knee and points to the animals near the road or standing in driveways and front yards. Mostly, though, he is quiet and still, perhaps deep in thought. He seems to have forgotten I’m there, and that’s fine.

On the way home in the dark, with the temperature dropping and traffic thinning, we do not attempt to chat over the growling engine. We listen to the tires humming against the asphalt. The deer disappear in the shadows. It is a lovely ride.

Ben has always been a bit of a risk taker. As an infant in diapers he scraped his legs while trying to climb jagged rocks at the beach. He still has the scars. He had a sixth sense for finding every electrical outlet. He hates to use his booster seat in the car. I found myself saying “No, Ben” so often that I worried about crushing his spirit of adventure.

The out-in-the-breeze experience of riding in the sidecar seems to suit Ben. He realizes that the rig is nowhere near as safe as the car, but much more exciting. For me the machine is fun to ride and helps me make the case that I am not just another uptight, authoritarian father.

At least part of the Ural’s appeal stems from the need some of us feel to introduce a little danger into our kids’ lives as a way to prove we are not overprotective “helicopter” parents. I grew up in the 1970s and ’80s when it seemed parents had things to do other than monitor their children’s activities. My friends and I got into all sorts of after-school mischief, much of which was, in the long run, harmless.

Today we want to show our children a good time, to be part of the fun. Navigating potential hazards at what seems like a reasonable rate — without looking like a control freak — can be difficult, especially when motorcycling and other high-risk activities are involved.

But a sidecar bike makes it relatively easy.