I was twelve when I finally decided though, that enough was enough and I would teach myself if that were what was needed. I collected together as much money as I could from my savings and begged my mother to drive me to the store. She took me to Wal-Mart because they were new and promised low prices. I went past the toys and to where they had bikes displayed on racks. There was a silver lady’s bike that caught my attention. It was a mountain bike, so I would be able to go biking though all those places I’d been walking and hiking in the ravine by my house all those years before. Exploring that world that I knew so well through an altered perception of being on a Vélo instead of à pieds appealed to me. The price was also right for me, the first time purchaser of a bike, and a youth with little budget and a determination. It was just over a hundred dollars. What I didn’t have my mom told me I could work off by doing the dishes. So I agreed to do all the dishes for a set amount of days, which in fact were weeks, and my mother made up the difference in money for me, and the bike was mine. I had a bike, now I had to learn how to use it.

My older brother Brian had become something of a friend to me in those years, and so he agreed to attempt to help me learn how to ride my new bike. We went outside, in the street in front of our house and the butterflies danced in my stomach. We lived at the top of a hill and my greatest fear after gaining balance on my bike was that I would go flying down that hill and not be able to stop, and then I’d fall over and hurt myself very badly. I remembered that happening to Shawn when we were all very small. He had to get stitches on his face, and the scar is still there to this day, all because he fell while going down the hill on his bike. My brother could see the fear in my eyes and understood. He said, “Don’t worry too much about it” as we both acknowledged the protective helmet on my head. I felt silly in that moment instead of fear, but only in that moment where I felt as though I looked ridiculous with the helmet on my head, feeling as though I must look very awkward.

“The fist thing you’ve got to learn is your beginning foot. This will help you get your balance and get your bike going comfortably” I was thoroughly confused as this new terminology. “Most times your beginning foot is the same of what handiness you are.” At least I was able to understand this much of his instructions. “I’m right-handed,” I said to my fourteen-year-old brother, who possessed the same hair and eye colouring that I did. He hopped on my bike to show me. He had his left foot on the ground as his right foot took up the pedal that was highest. He pushed down on the pedal and the bike began to move, he then placed his left foot on the second pedal that was now elevated. His feet moved in circles, up and down, and the bike moved in a circle around me with my older bother riding on it. “See?” He said. I nodded, still unsure of a few elements needed to make this bike do what I wanted it to, with me on it. “How do you get the balance? How do you stop from falling over?” I could not understand how a person was to balance himself on such a narrow machine. He looked at me a bit confused, searching for the right words that could describe how to ride a bike. To him it was simply something that was done without thinking. His muscles were trained and it took no effort from his conscience mind to perform the task of riding a bicycle. I could see him working it out in his mind, along with analyzing his own movements on the bike, breaking down the process bit by bit.

“You sorta lean forward” he said. “Lean forward?” I asked skeptically. “Yes, to ride a bike and keep your balance you lean your body a little bit forward.” It is hard to explain, but once you are on, you will understand.
It was my turn now, and so I clumsily mounted the bike, put my right foot on the pedal and leaned a bit forward. It did not work. I tried and I tried until I was frustrated, and yelled at my bother out of frustration. He just laughed and told me that I’d get it. We gave up for the day. The next day was a school day, and I put aside my goal until the weekend. The weekend however was filled with rain, and I had discovered a heightened dislike for asphalt. I was determined to learn this skill, and finally be able to ride a bike. I took my jacket from the front-hall closet and went into the garage. There I found my bike, still all shiny and new. I opened the garage door and took my bike around to the backyard to attempt the ride my bike in the grass. The grass was soggy that April day and there wasn’t much light to encourage me from the sky. The rain was coming down hard and my hair was becoming matted to my face.
Everything was wet and sticking to me. My jacket did little to protect me from the rain. The rain soaked through and the jacket stuck to my skin as I kept trying to get my bike to go. Finally it happened. I’d balanced my weight at just the right angle and got the bike to move for a few more rotations of the pedals. I could ride my bike in the grass, where the soggy soil could help balance my bike and my goal just so.

The next day was a Sunday and it wasn’t raining. In fact the day lived up to its name and it was sunny. I was determined to ride my bike down to the park that day and back up the hill to my house. It was all right at first, I’d achieved the balance needed to coast down the hill without falling over and splitting my face wide open to demand stitches and a scar. I’d gotten to the park all right and thought that I really could ride my bike with ease now. Instead of turning around and teaching myself how to ride up hill, I was feeling as though I could ride the bike trail now, and so tried that instead. Not a minute on the trail had my bike fallen over. It wouldn’t have been such a bad thing if the trail wasn’t lines with dog-rose bushes. I fell into a hedge of the thorns, and learned right away that I still needed a lot of practice to say that I was able to ride a bike. The thorns moved deep into my skin and I couldn’t pull them out. It was terrible.

I walked home from the park that day, walking my bike along side of me, with my helmet dangling on its bars because it really served no purpose to me when I was on foot. I put my bike in my garage and went inside to search out means of removing the thorns.

I brought my bike down to the park the next weekend, it was raining that weekend too. I took the trail that had no dog-rose hedges and didn’t hurt myself that time. I kept on practicing, and was able to say that I learned to ride my bike when I was twelve during the month of April, and that I also learned that it can take up to three weeks to get thorns out of my arms. That is how I learned to ride my bike.

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