It's Never Like Riding a Bike
I've always hated the phrase, "It's like riding a bike." That probably has a lot to do with my lack of bike riding ability. You haven't heard a bigger bombshell since Pluto was kicked out of the planet list so brace yourself: for 28 years, I've never gotten past the training wheels. This could be excusable for a kid living in the mountains of Peru where they didn't know what a wheel was. I like to think they probably came across the concept at some point but whenever they made one, it would promptly roll off a cliff and was never seen again. Perhaps I should have just moved to Peru, taken up corn growing and revel in the knowledge that my Peruvian friends didn't give a cocao bean about the fact I couldn't ride a bike. But you don't know about Peru or passports or how to grow corn when you are eight years old. All you know is that you can't ride a bike but all your friends can. And that it doesn't make you very popular or feel very clever when you can't join them on a bike ride after school.
My parents bought me a very cool BMX so its certainly not a lack of resources that was the problem. My older brother promptly sent me hurtling down our steep driveway on it which is probably closer to the crux of the issue. Somehow a lifelong vow against ever riding a bicycle again was inspired in me. I never even saw bicycles again. Instead I saw a two-wheeled machine of terror that children were forced to pedal around as if it might be fun.
After exercising my constitutional rights in regard to bike-riding for a year or two, I began to wonder if I was missing out on something. That there was something wrong with the fact I couldn't ride. A bit like kids who can't cross their legs or can't curl their tongue or can't say supercalafrejalistickexpialid ocious. Quite naturally, we announced them to be freaks. With that, came the unsettling thought that my freakish inability to do something was much more freakish than anyone else's.
And then as God would have it (cheeky bugger) I met the love of my life...and he was into bikes. In fact, I couldn't have picked a bigger cycling connoiesseur. He had a mountain bike, a pushbike, a motorbike and a unicycle. If they ever invent a new method of cycling he'll probably master that too. Just to properly ice the cake he was a member of a unicycling troupe that performed at Woodford, entertaining hundreds of people with jumps and mind-boggling acrobatics!
When I told him of my dark secret his face said it all - I had to learn. Sitting me on a bike one day he began pushing me along the road, keeping the bike from tipping over with a firm grip on the seat. After several near-misses with trees, gutters, bollards and pant-wetting I said as delicately as I could, "I would rather learn this on my own."
Determined to overcome this barrier to our perfect love, I borrowed my sister's old bike and helmet then found a secluded stretch of path. Here I stumbled, swore and swerved for weeks. Friends, siblings and work colleagues tried to coach me. And then, one day, I successfully took off. It was a herculean moment for me and I loved it. The feeling of flying, the wind in the hair, the effortless passage down the road. Riding a bike was great! So if you see a full-grown woman swerving dangerously along a bicycle path please just give me plenty of room and wish me luck!
My parents bought me a very cool BMX so its certainly not a lack of resources that was the problem. My older brother promptly sent me hurtling down our steep driveway on it which is probably closer to the crux of the issue. Somehow a lifelong vow against ever riding a bicycle again was inspired in me. I never even saw bicycles again. Instead I saw a two-wheeled machine of terror that children were forced to pedal around as if it might be fun.
After exercising my constitutional rights in regard to bike-riding for a year or two, I began to wonder if I was missing out on something. That there was something wrong with the fact I couldn't ride. A bit like kids who can't cross their legs or can't curl their tongue or can't say supercalafrejalistickexpialid ocious. Quite naturally, we announced them to be freaks. With that, came the unsettling thought that my freakish inability to do something was much more freakish than anyone else's.
And then as God would have it (cheeky bugger) I met the love of my life...and he was into bikes. In fact, I couldn't have picked a bigger cycling connoiesseur. He had a mountain bike, a pushbike, a motorbike and a unicycle. If they ever invent a new method of cycling he'll probably master that too. Just to properly ice the cake he was a member of a unicycling troupe that performed at Woodford, entertaining hundreds of people with jumps and mind-boggling acrobatics!
When I told him of my dark secret his face said it all - I had to learn. Sitting me on a bike one day he began pushing me along the road, keeping the bike from tipping over with a firm grip on the seat. After several near-misses with trees, gutters, bollards and pant-wetting I said as delicately as I could, "I would rather learn this on my own."
Determined to overcome this barrier to our perfect love, I borrowed my sister's old bike and helmet then found a secluded stretch of path. Here I stumbled, swore and swerved for weeks. Friends, siblings and work colleagues tried to coach me. And then, one day, I successfully took off. It was a herculean moment for me and I loved it. The feeling of flying, the wind in the hair, the effortless passage down the road. Riding a bike was great! So if you see a full-grown woman swerving dangerously along a bicycle path please just give me plenty of room and wish me luck!
