Out of the blue — although possibly because I had been raving about how much I’d enjoyed riding MY bike around town over the weekend — my son Ian said one morning, “You know, I think I’d like to learn to ride my bike.”
A firm believer in teachable moments — especially ones I’ve been anticipating for seven-plus years — I seized the opportunity to resurrect their four year old bikes from the basement and take both Ian and his twin brother on a trek across town. We’d been planning a trip to the art museum that day anyway; why not ride our bikes? The kids were skeptical at first, but when I informed them that what would normally be a 25-minute walk would take only 10 minutes by bicycle, they were in, and we were off.
Before we reached the top of the first hill, Ian was cursing me, his bike, the art museum and this whole stupid idea. And at the top of the hill, as I arranged our caravan, it occurred to me that I was asking two boys with very little riding experience to navigate relatively busy city streets on too small bikes with rusty chains, flat tires, rickety training wheels and handlebars so low they banged their knees with every other revolution. It didn’t seem wise, or even particularly safe, and I contemplated aborting the mission, but then I remembered that I had grown up without car seats or mandatory seat belts and decided that for once, I should throw caution to the wind and let my kids experience the exhilaration and danger of not being overprotected.
Evan loved it right away. Oblivious to the fact that training wheels may be considered uncool by many kids his age, he felt stylish in his hockey helmet (I think their bike helmets are at their dad’s), not to mention courageous and free as he biked alongside automobiles, his trainers rattling menacingly on the pavement.
Ian was harder to charm, but somehow, once we made it past the super-freeway that is Franklin Arterial, I managed to convince him to stop kvetching and give the experience one more chance before he wrote it off entirely. After successfully navigating a freshly paved parking lot, he, too, was hooked.
We made our way to the museum and back in good shape, managing to irritate only five or 10 motorists with our sometimes slow progress and occasional encroachments into their space, and Ian and Evan arrived home with a new sense of empowerment. They couldn’t wait to get out again, so a few days later, with Ward home from work in honor of the Europeans Who Migrated to the New World and Oppressed Indigenous Peoples — oops, I mean Columbus Day — we took a four-mile bike trip along the Eastern Trail.
Upon returning home, Ian and Evan declared they wanted to try riding without training wheels for a little bit, and before either Ward or I could get a hand on Ian’s seat, he was off and pedaling. Evan quickly followed suit, and the trainers haven’t seen the light of day since. The boys are thrilled with their new favorite pastime, and I am, too. I’ve long believed that they would pick up bike riding quickly if only they had a desire to, but I must admit, I was beginning to wonder if that day would ever come.
I suppose I could have forced the issue years ago, but I’m glad I didn’t. As Ian said when he was coasting by me yesterday, a huge grin spread across his face, and a love of speed sparkling in his eyes, “Imagine if someone was forced to bike ride before he was ready and got so frustrated he never learned. Then he’d miss out on THIS!”
Thankfully, my guys aren’t missing out. And they picked it up with a full week to go before their 11th birthday.
Belinda Ray is a homeschooling mother and freelance writer who finds time to write when her children and their friends have lightsaber battles in the yoga room (but only if the laundry is already folded and everyone’s been fed).