No Training Wheels

It’s been 2 months, still a neophyte. Driving addiction, cold turkey.

At first, stumbled through missed connections, figuring out routes and times. Why try and act like I know what I’m doing? Biking, though, has been the big pleasure, a surprise.

I learned to ride a bike in the long, dusty driveway at my grandparents. Hot corn field one side, Mom’s huge garden on the other. We almost never went in the garden. Mom spent hours there each day. It wasn’t the kitchen garden, that was out back. In the front garden was a bewildering array of trees, bushes, odd plants, light spots and dark corners.

There were no training wheels for us. I pestered my dad to let me try the blue, rusted white wheeled bike. I don’t remember him running behind me, but he must have. In my memory I rode upright the first time.

Have you done that, run behind the bike while a kid learns to balance Just hold firmly, then lightly, then watch them soar, crash, get up and go again. Watch and wonder.

Glad to bike again.