Life Lessons Learned on a Bicycle |
Have you noticed? Something significant is disappearing from suburbia: kids on bicycles. "Well," you might say, "we can't possibly let our children roam freely down the streets these days, crime being what it is." The statistics don't support the claim. In fact, no more children are kidnapped today than fifty years ago, but through the media, our awareness of the possibility has grown. Now we don't dare let our children out of our sight for even a minute. Kids don't even know what they're missing.
Growing up I lived to ride my bike. It was the one activity I could do that didn't matter that I was a girl. I was just as fast as the boys, maybe even faster. Even though I was little, I felt strong and powerful, whipping through the streets and dodging the bumps in the road. I experienced my first thrill of independence on a bike, and to this day I have that same sense of autonomy whenever I start peddling.
My first bike was red, and I named her "Betsy." Once I graduated from training wheels, I was allowed to take Betsy around the block. Bravely I went, but turned around when I got to the church because its steeple was so tall I was afraid it would topple onto me. At about the same time, my dad picked up a bicycle built for two. I felt much safer with him, and we tootled around together, just the two of us. My legs barely reached the pedals, so Dad did most of the work while I enjoyed the breeze.
In first grade, my parents gave me the coolest bike ever -- a pink and purple Schwinn with monkey bars and a sparkly banana seat. I wanted that bike more than anything and got exactly what I had asked for. My brothers taught me how to clip playing cards to the spokes, and I added long streamers to the ends of the handlebars. I was careful to keep it polished and protected in the garage so I'd have it forever. I don't know what happened to that bicycle, but I'll never forget it.
In those days, every kid I knew had a bike. We cruised around the neighborhood, picking up friends along the way. On nice days we rode to and from school, and in the summers we raced to the pool. Sometimes without telling our parents, we'd dare to go a little farther, exploring other neighborhoods and parts unknown, occasionally getting lost in the process. The adventure was exhilarating! Now that was freedom!
I didn't have a bike while I was away at boarding school or throughout college, but in my mid-twenties, I bought a cheap used bicycle, hand painted white with black spots to look like a cow. Rumor had it that whomever sold this odd-looking heap of metal to the pawnshop was in trouble for drugs and needed to scrounge up some cash in a hurry. I always feared this dope addict would seek me out to get back his distinctively ugly bike. I rode his cow bike for years, but the junkie never did find me. Thank goodness!
In my thirties I hooked up with a couple of middle-aged men who trained seriously. They rode fast and hard for miles and miles. Of course, I had to have a road bike with thin tires like theirs and all of the fancy get-up, including the clothes, gloves, clip shoes, helmet, tools, and a repair kit. Even worse than the expense were those padded spandex shorts that suctioned to my body like ultra-control top pantyhose and made my rear end look twice as big. That was definitely not freedom. That was torture.
Eventually the men and I pedaled off in different directions, and I was riding by myself again without all the accoutrements. That's the way I prefer to ride anyway. Just throw on a pair of shorts and sneakers and go! No worries, no big deal. Hop on and ride into the wind.
I experienced valuable lessons through riding a bike that helped guide me into adulthood. I wish these lessons for today's children, however they may learn them. Push hard on the way up the hills so you can coast on the way down. Venture into the unfamiliar, but be smart and keep alert at the same time. Trust that you can take care of yourself. Plan, so you can be home before dark. But most importantly, enjoy the ride.
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