I don’t think my parents know how to ride a bike. And if they do, I have never seen it. My sister and I had sorta taught each other how to ride. I remember my mom had brought home a bike for no reason at all which means it must have been either cheap or free. But there was never any intention to teach us how to use it so one summer, my sister and I had decided upon ourselves to learn. It was, we believed, a necessary skill for survival in case we were ever caught in a zombie apocalypse. We took the bike to the creek in our neighborhood. At one part of the creek, there was a large cemented area and there, we took turns riding around in circles until we were both able to do so without falling over. By the time we both felt we had nailed it, the sky was a pink and orange haze. Twas a victory well earned. Unfortunately this never really led to the biking adventures we had hoped for. We only had the one, usable bike. Others were brought home, but the tires would be flat or a part would be broken and “eventually” was a time that never came. We got used to adventures on foot, which ended up not being that bad. I think that was the early conditioning for my fondness of walking because we surely walked a LOT in our childhood.
However, I recently bought a bike– almost 20 years after the last time I rode one. And not just any bike, an electric one designed for cargo. The assembly was the first challenge. It came 90% assembled…but still. At a whopping 77lbs, the bike weighed more than half of me. Couple that with the fact that I didn’t consider myself a very “handy” person, made its completion so satisfying that I now consider myself a “handy” person. The next challenge was actually riding it. The old adage goes that you never forget how to ride a bike. Well, I put that to the test. I walked my bike to a field by my house which had a gravel track. It brought about a feeling reminiscent of my sister and I all those years ago. Except, this time, it was just me, by myself– a grown adult who has fallen enough times, both literally and figuratively, that I had structured a life with safeguards to minimize the chances of it happening again. Yet, here I was.
It felt awkward at first. How does it go again? How do I stay upright? How do I turn? After a series of fumbles while trying to balance on my new steed , something clicked back into place. Thanks, muscle memory. Like a baby giraffe, my bike hobbled toward the first bend of the track. Steady yourself, girl. I continued to pedal at a cautious pace. The melanin in my hands did well in masking the bloodlessness of my knuckles from gripping the handlebars so tight. Easy, now. You’re too tense. Seeing as I hadn’t fallen over yet, I began to relax my grip. My pedalling increased in tempo. I gave myself space to enjoy the experience. It was a nice fall day. Cool, but not cold. The breeze, as I zipped around the track, still had a warmth to it. I had my phone mounted to the handlebars and it was playing a rap-heavy playlist (because I thought I needed all the confidence I could get). But until this point, it had only acted as ambient noise. I was finally relaxed enough to listen. I bobbed my head to the drums and sang what words I knew and mumbled the words I didn’t. Nothing mattered, I was zooming.
Eventually, I got confident enough to turn up the pedal assist and, therefore, the speed so I was really zooming– zooming a little too hard. And then I crashed. I had made too wide of a turn and lost my balance riding over a divet on a grassy part next to the graveled course. A nice cushy chain-link fence caught my fall. But you know what? I was ok. More than ok, I was having fun. I hopped back on the bike, played with the speed some more, and fell some more as well. Each collision taught me how to better prevent the same mistake in the future. Life has a way of sucking the vibrance out of you, if you aren’t intentional with protecting it. And it’s been a fight for me. However, I felt like I earned some xp points with this side quest. Relearning how to ride a bike had me feeling more comfortable making mistakes, more comfortable in my body, and more open to seeing what’s next. At some point enough was enough. It was time to go. The sun was still bright this time as I rode my bike home.
I wish I could say that was the beginning of my biking adventures, but fast forward a couple months and the bike has been seldom used. “It’s the cold”, I say. When I had gotten the bike, the air was already crisp, although comfortably so. However, the drop in temperature crept in like a frigid sigh. And cold is truly my kryptonite. It’s an internal battle making it outdoors, typically requiring an extensive pep talk. Maybe throw in some bribery, because to step into a freezer knowing my African blood is allergic deserves a prize. I solidify this argument by thinking back to something I remember a middle school teacher telling us. It was something along the lines of “spikes in violent crime occur during the extremes of climate temperature because it makes people more irritable”. I don’t know whether that’s fact, but it’s convincing enough. So when braving the cold, why would I, then, add the challenge of maneuvering a bike I’m not yet comfortable with?
“It’s the roads”, I say. We don’t have the infrastructure for bikes. Bike lanes are barely wide enough to safely accommodate bikers on the same road as cars. Regardless, my neighborhood doesn’t even have bike lanes. And sidewalks are not reliably large enough for bikers and walkers so bikers tend to have to yield to the street anyway. It’s terrifying. People drive aggressively and mindlessly and a nascent bike rider is no match for a 2 ton steel behemoth. Where is one supposed to go to learn and build confidence on the roads?–where a mistake isn’t fatal. Why would I risk it?
“I have too much to focus on”, I say. I had the wonderful idea to begin several projects simultaneously and make my livelihood immediately depend on them. I’m starting from scratch. I’m juggling so much. I’m tired. I’m defeated often. I’VE GOT BILLS TO PAY. Bike riding seems silly when my mind needs to stay on the grind. Forget the freedom for which I bought the bike in the first place. Why would I waste my time?
These were just excuses. All of them. Not wrong, but truth has a debatable impact on an excuse. It felt like what began as a story of discovery and triumph turned to one of regression and, honestly, frustration. It was quite an expensive promise that I felt like I wasn’t able to keep to myself. It’s now winter and I can tell you for a fact that I will not be getting on that bike. However introspection has allowed me the gift of a new perspective less rooted in stagnant shame. To frame it as a failure is a great oversimplification. Not when I actually assembled and rode the bike. Not when the seed has already been planted. I’ve known me my whole life and my progress has never been linear. And I have a good streak of keeping the promises I make to myself, even if it’s in my own time. This isn’t quitting, it’s a pause. We’ll resume in the Spring. Stay tuned. Oh, and I later found out that my dad can ride a bike. Well…supposedly. So he says. Still yet to be seen.
