Otoh, there is a very obvious solution staring you in the face. Sweeney Todd, The Butcher of Fleet Street, would suggest you and the wife grind the kids up and serve them as meat patties to the neighbors at the next holiday grilling session; buy a portable fan and rig it to the rear rack of the wife's bke (so she's always in a tailwind) and tell her to keep up or else; then leave her in the dust. As your speed increases, your physique responds to your superhuman efforts and you gain notice of the local nubile, collegiate female populace, you'll have more "partnership" offers and she'll get the drift - keep up or get replaced!
Oh, and get a job that has no chance of interfering with the cycling, dude! I mean, come on!