Time Machine on Two Wheels

by Woody

STRAW_CoverWoody’s highly anticipated new book “STRAWBERRIES IN WINTERTIME: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” is NOW available! Order your signed copy HERE! 

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Summer Time Machine on Two Wheels

Summertime is a time machine. Just as hearing an old song can transport one’s thoughts back to his or her youth, so can summertime sights (barbecues, bikinis, bursting fireworks) and smells (sunscreen, chlorine, freshly mowed grass) make the calendar pages leap backwards.

Although summer has no monopoly on it, I recently saw a time-machine sight that is far more common during summertime than the other three seasons combined: a kid learning to ride a bicycle.1bikeridekid

This milestone typically plays out on a neighborhood sidewalk, quiet cul de sac, or empty parking lot. A father, or mother, holds the bike seat from behind to provide balance – and, at first, a little propulsion – while quick-stepping alongside as the child pedals.

To describe what universally happens next, I will share a specific scene I recently watched unfold. A young girl, maybe 6 and wearing a pink bike helmet that bobbled because it was too big, was on a bike that somehow seemed too small.

The dad kept the bike upright by holding the seat with one hand while the mom watched and cheered and took video. With each attempt, the tiny bike seemed to wobble a little less; the little feet pedaled more surely; and the girl’s frown of fright turned into a growing smile of happiness and confidence.

Also with each attempt, the dad’s stride quickened slightly; his grip on the bike seat grew less vise-like; and his smile, too, widened.

There were falls, of course, but no scraped knees because the father was wiser than I had been when I was in his shoes. He was teaching his daughter on a soccer field. What a brilliant way to minimize the fear of falling than to have soft grass to tumble on.

Grass, however, is more difficult to pedal on than pavement. This hindrance was overcome by doing the rides on a very slightly downhill section – the equivalent of the Wright Brothers always heading into the wind for extra lift at Kitty Hawk.

On one of the young girl’s attempts, as magically as when Orville was airborne for the very first time, she was suddenly defying gravity on two-wheels. At first, of course, she did not know that her dad’s hand was no longer helping her stay upright. And so the dad and mom felt the magic of the moment first.

Indeed, only when the daughter noticed her dad was no longer beside her did she realize she was flying solo. Shortly thereafter, the downhill turned flat and she ran out of steam and toppled over. By then she had traveled maybe 120 feet, as Orville did on his maiden flight, but each ride thereafter went further and longer until perhaps reaching the 852 feet that Wilbur achieved on that 1903 historical day.

The time machine sight of this girl’s personal Kitty Hawk sent me back to my own 1965 historical day. My two older Woodburn Brothers combined forces to teach me. I’m not sure their motivation was kindness so much as that if I learned to ride I would then need Doug’s hand-me-down bike; Doug would inherit Jim’s; and Jim would get a new one.

They took turns running alongside holding the seat to help me balance until – like the little girl above, and like you, and like your own children – after a while everything clicked and I was soaring solo. It is remarkable how something impossible can become second nature in an instant.

My brothers cheered me on as I rode off down the street and proceeded around the block. When I came back around they were both gone – Mom had called us inside for dinner and they had not waited for me.

Unfortunately, they had neglected to teach me how to use the coaster brakes. So around the block I went a second time, and a third, and still no one came out to help me stop without falling.

Falling, of course, is how I finally stopped. I came inside with a red badge of courage on my knee from the sidewalk. Goodness, that was a masterpiece summer day.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

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