Learning To Ride

This week is all about bikes and pain.

When I was a young boy I had a fabulous pedal-powered dirt bike. It was a specific type of bike known as a ‘Chopper’ that I don’t believe is made anymore. It had a low-rider type seat and three gears (speeds) to choose from. You chose your gear by shifting a lever that sat directly in front of the seat, between the seat and the handlebars. If you’re a guy, think about that placement for a moment and you might understand why these bikes aren’t made anymore.

Yeah, I know. Ow.

Anywaste, one day my father decided I was too old for training wheels and I should learn how to ride a bike like a real man. Not wanting to disappoint him, I hastily agreed and we removed the wheels, went outside and started to ride. Remember, this was long before such things as safety helmets or elbow pads and we were on the cement sidewalk outside my apartment building next to a very busy street.

I tried to be brave.

After a few minutes of trial and error, my father had the bright idea of holding onto the back of my seat and running alongside me while I got the hang of balancing myself without training wheels. At first we went slow and my dad did most of the balancing for me, but after a few tries I was getting better. My confidence on the rise, I asked my dad if we could go a little faster.

The twinkle in his eye should have been my first warning.

He held onto the back of the bike this time, so he could keep up, or so he said. I started pedaling as fast as I dared and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was really riding a bike without any help. I yelled back to my father, “Look at me go dad!”

From far behind me I heard my father yell, “That’s the way son!”

I laughed out loud and thought how great it was to be riding my bike without training wheels, even if my father was holding onto it so I wouldn’t fall. I was a real man now, I could ride my bike for real! I was so proud of myself. Maybe next time I’d try riding without my father holding on to me. Maybe I…

Wait a second.

Stealing a quick glance backwards, I saw my father standing about 50 feet behind me, smiling like a merciless inquisitor in a medieval torture chamber about to hear a ‘confession’. Looking forwards again, I saw the end of the block coming up fast. Suddenly, I didn’t know what to do. In my head, I knew that I should stop or scream or something, but I just couldn’t seem to remember how.

I also conveniently forgot how to steer.

I was coming fast to the end of the block. On the end of the block, directly in my path, there stood a lamppost. Of course, I was headed straight for the hard, painful looking, steel base of said lamppost. At speed.

Face, meet post. Post, this is face.

I don’t remember much of the actual crash, it was a blur of motion, a glimpse of steel, the sound of a large bell quickly followed by the cracking sound of something soft hitting pavement and finally silence. I remember my fathers footsteps as he ran up to where I was lying, unmoving in the street. He looked down at me and I opened my eyes and looked up at him. I opened my mouth and he leaned down to better hear my words.

“Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“Remind me to kick your ass in twenty years.”

He laughed so hard he had to sit down on the sidewalk next to me and wipe his eyes.