It's the Journey

When it was time to graduate from the tricycle to the bicycle, Dad and I went to the store to pick one out… one that came with training wheels.

This was a wise idea, especially for a naturally uncoordinated kid like me who could trip over his own feet with little assistance or encouragement.

When you think about it, biking is a very intricate exercise in choreography. The rider needs to push down on a pedal just hard enough to propel oneself forward but not so hard as to weigh down one side of the bike and risk a fall. The move is then repeated with the other foot, and again, not too hard to weigh down the opposite side. The trick is for the pedaling motion to be continuous, while looking forward at traffic, not downward at one’s feet or pedals, and then to not think about it quite so hard nor focusing on the fear of falling.

For a first-timer, it’s not a terribly intuitive process.

Even though with the training wheels, it was a pretty safe bet that I wouldn’t hurt myself, my dad still felt that practice was needed in a fairly safe, controlled environment.

I remember his sacrifice in giving up his precious rest and relaxation time on Sundays to put my little bike in the car trunk and to drive us to a nearby strip mall where the stores were closed. We’d park in behind the mall and have the entire loading space to ourselves for me to practice with no worries about traffic. In retrospect, the idea makes complete sense to me now, given that we lived on one of the busier residential streets in our suburban neighborhood.

While I can’t remember exactly how many Sundays it took, I just remember driving back-and-forth and back-and-forth the length of the strip mall, practicing until I developed the balance and the confidence to take me to the next milestone.

The part that still fascinates me was that for the next step, Dad removed one training wheel, not both of them. When I mentioned it to my friends, all of them were taking the plunge in having both of their training wheels removed at the same time. To this day, I wish I could ask Dad, “Why just one?”

As an only child, I was already a pretty independent thinker and didn’t really worry about comparison. I knew that having just one training wheel was the next logical step for me that brought me reassurance. In doing so, we continued with the Sunday practices at the strip mall and then I was given permission to cycle around the block.

That being the case, I was out there all the time on my little bike. I must have circled the block hundreds of times, making all of the neighbours dizzy to see me out there on the same trajectory. I never got bored though, already appreciating my new-found independence.

There was one exception, however. When we went for a bike ride as a family, either on a week night or for a weekend bike ride, we went farther out than my usual “around-the-block” routine. I believe that was my parents’ way of monitoring my progress to know when it was safe to relax the rules a bit more.

It was the next spring that my Dad thought that I was ready and that it was time to take off the other training wheel. For this last big step, the practice sessions behind the strip mall resumed.

I was nervous about going it alone that first time, but Dad offered to hang on and run behind me. With that reassurance, I started pedaling.

Whether it was muscle memory from the one-training-wheel days, a stronger sense of balance or simply confidence, I found myself getting into the same groove as I did the fall prior and was able to drive forward with just the right finesse to not weigh down either side of the bike and to move forward.

I was doing it!

I kept pedaling, looking forward and resisting the urge to look down at my feet. Before I knew it, I was at the other end of the strip mall.

I did it!

I stopped, turned around and looked back to see my dad about half way. I was puzzled. I drove back to ask him why he let go. He answered that I was going so fast, he couldn’t keep up!

I remember being a little mad that he wasn’t there for the whole ride because I could have fallen. But he made me realize that I was finally there, flying solo. When that fact finally sunk in, I was beyond thrilled to have made it to the other end of the lot which quickly erased my annoyance.

After a few family outings on the bicycle where I demonstrated safe habits as a cyclist, including each and every hand signal in the pamphlet he gave me on road safety, it was time for my parents to let me go.

Given my success in avoiding scrapes, I was allowed to ride to the strip mall or the library on my own, as both destinations didn’t involve crossing the busy highway that intersected the suburb. This also involved a new rite of passage: getting a lock for my bike and remembering the combination. Fortunately, I never experienced any problems and the bike never disappeared on me.

Later, in having developed into a safe and confident cyclist, my territory for exploration was extended to the whole suburb as well as connecting to our city’s bike path network, provided that I let them know where I was going before venturing out.

The full circle moment for me happened a few years later, in accepting my first part time job at that same strip mall. Throughout my three years there, it didn’t matter whether I was taking out the trash or receiving an order at the back door, I could still see my 7-year-old self, zooming back-and-forth, over and over, with the highest of hopes and tenacity when learning to ride my “big boy” bike.

It also made me smile to remember that little guy in that very same lot, with his dad on the sidelines proudly watching his son growing up before his eyes through this rite of spring.

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Have a great day,
André