They say that once you learn to ride a bicycle, you never forget how.
It's funny how the bicycles in my life (or in fact, any transportation device with wheels) have been so closely connected to the most important men in my life over the years.
I don't have a lot of vivid childhood memories but one of the few that I cherish revolves around my father wearing a puffy beige jacket coaching me as I wobbled down the block riding a Strawberry Shortcake bicycle with its pink seat and red and white plastic tassels on the handlebars. I'm sure we practiced riding every few days for months but what I really remember was the day that my father took my training wheels off and finally let me ride down a short hill all by myself. Exhilarated, I flew around the corner and felt a rush of joy/freedom/fun.
I wonder now what my father was thinking or feeling at that moment as he watched me pedal away - delight that I had finally done it? Sorrow that his youngest child was growing up? (Knowing my dad it *may* have been anxiety about cars coming toward me from the other end of the street.) To his credit, no matter what he was truly feeling he expressed pride and enthusiasm when I made it back to my mother's welcoming arms to let her know that yes, I could finally ride a bike on my own.
Bikes didn't factor a lot into my youth or adolescence, as we lived in a very hilly part of town. My friends and I typically walked (and later drove) everywhere. In college, I did a lot of biking to class (along with a healthy amount of biking to parties) but it wan't until returning to my hometown that I purchased my first beach cruiser and enjoyed biking as a source of fun and conviviality. We lived near a wide boardwalk at the time and my friends and I would amble along the coastline, chatting and laughing (and stopping for a beer) along the way to our destination.
I never really thought of myself as a bike enthusiast though, or even very passionate about bicycling. It was just something I did as a conduit between one place and another within the larger context of my social life. It was a nice way to get around.
Biking took on new meaning, and new pressure, when I met and fell in love with my husband. I can still remember - when we were just friends, before we started dating - him describing to me how much he loved cycling and how the world just looked better from the seat of a bicycle. At the time, my inner monologue was not overly impressed "Hmmmmm, biking? Really? I'm not sure about that sport..." but in the end I liked the guy so much I decided to look for the good things about bicycling.
I figured, if you can't beat 'em - join 'em.
So about a year after my husband and I started dating I agreed to let him purchase me a nice bike - not too fancy but definitely miles better than anything I'd ridden before - and a helmet. We began to bike together to a favorite swimming spot, with him always quite a bit in the lead. Still, it was a companionate and sweet thing to do and watching the way he melded with his cycle - as though he and the bike were one - was actually kind of cool. I realized pretty quickly that the guy had skills, and the strongest legs I'd ever seen in action. I decided that *maybe* there was something sexy about biking after all.
Then came the ill-fated Valentine's Day trip of 2004... also known as Worst Valentines Day Ever... when he and I decided that it would be romantic and fun to bike Big Sur's 17 mile drive together. Obviously, we didn't really think this through. Wind depending, my husband routinely clocks between 20 and 25 miles per hour on his bike. I, on the other hand, go about two miles per hour. Neither of us are extremely patient people. Within about five blocks, it became evident that I would be gazing at my husband's back (about the size of a peanut in the distance) as we rode through the drive 'together'... as he did not know how to go slow and I wasn't confident or strong enough to speed up to his level. I'm sure my friend C. well remembers me calling her in tears from about mile 12, saying, "I love him ~ and we are NEVER, EVER going to bike together again."
I wasn't totally serious about that, but as events unfolded in our lives we actually rarely biked together after that time. Within a few months we had moved to a new home in a less bucolic community where I didn't feel comfortable biking around on my own; I got slammed with work at my new job and spent most weekends at the office; and then we were surprised with the blessing of parenthood. You don't see many pregnant women riding bikes around.
After our first son was born, I became an expert stroller pusher and saved my bicycling efforts for the gym. So that is how it has been over the last six years... I've gone through six strollers and become a whiz kid with the BOB Revolution Duallie but my old friend the silver bicycle has spent much time patiently waiting for me in a series of consecutive garages. With every passing move to a new home, my husband has reminded me of the bike. "Are you ever going to ride that thing? It's a nice bike!" he would say, "You should get some exercise, you would feel so great!"
I can't explain why but I just haven't been motivated to do it. At all.
Over the past two years though, I have watched as my husband has patiently and lovingly taught our sons how to ride their bikes -- fitting them for cool looking helmets and helping them with training wheels. I have seen the joy and sparkle in my boys' eyes when they return from a ride with daddy, looking like the cats who drank the cream - smug, happy and uber-proud. "Mommy, we rode our bikes all the way to the park!" A few weeks ago our eldest son rode his bike without training wheels for the very first time.
Somewhere in me, something may have stirred that day. A yearning for that kind of fun, freedom and adventure. Maybe it was just the memory of my childhood joy calling to me.
Since we've returned to live in the neighborhood where I first fell in love with my husband (and to a lesser degree, biking) I've been inspired to dust off the old silver friend and head into the sunset. "Honey," I asked the other day, "Would you please check out my tires and set my bike up to fit my new 'post baby' body? I think I'd like to start riding again."
He nearly fell off his chair, or maybe he just stumbled in an appreciative rush to get the bike ready for me.
Yesterday then was the first day in almost seven years that I have intentionally and purposefully gone outdoors to ride my bicycle. "I'm proud of you," my husband smiled as he tightened the straps of my bike helmet.
The sunny warm air brushed gently against my cheeks as I began the descent down our slight hill toward the local bike path. "Bye mommy!" my boys called to me, "Have fun!"
I held my breath but it quickly became clear that the rumors are true... you actually don't forget how to ride a bicycle! My hands were steady on the handlebars, legs were strong on the pedals, navigation was solid. (It did take me a few moments to remember how to shift into different gears, however.) Before I knew it, I was flying down the streets, elated. "I did it! I'm doing it!" I thought, and smiled broadly at passersby.
Reaching the entrance to the bike path, I began to ascend through a series of hills and valleys surrounded on either side by green foliage and homes. Gradually the path widened and gained elevation, opening itself to bright blue sky. Away from the din of cars, I heard sounds so rare to me they were quite noticeable - the whinny of a horse and the chattering of birds. "Horses? Really? Here?" I wondered, but sure enough looking up the hill to my right I saw two horses trotting back and forth on a private ranch. "Wow."
Along the path I passed many others out to enjoy the sunny day... teenagers holding hands, men and women walking dogs, children cruising together on their small dirt bikes, elderly couples strolling and even a nurse pushing an old man in his wheelchair. Most of them greeted me warmly, and we exchanged cheerful words about the day and the weather.
Then unexpectedly, I reached the summit of the bike path and realized that to my left was an unobstructed view of the sparkling Pacific Ocean. "I can't believe we live here," I sighed gratefully, and stopped pedaling for a moment to take it all in: the day, the birds, the horses, the ocean, the exhilaration, the view.
"THIS is why my husband loves cycling," I smiled. For that moment, I actually understood the passion and contentment that he feels when looking at the world from this uniquely peaceful perspective. The world truly is beautiful from the seat of a bicycle on a mountaintop... he is right.
I may never be fast but I think I've got some heart for this pastime after all. I can't wait to see the look on his face when I tell him that I'm eager to ride again soon.
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