Do I recall the first time that I rode a bike? I think not. My memory is not lucid or clear. Oftentimes, I find that I am unable to even remember yesterday. But I digress.
My childhood was unlike other young persons who had the pleasure of being carefree and child-like, so the joy of learning to ride a bike was probably met with angst and challenges no child should ever experience.
Did I start with a tricycle— three wheels to balance and stabilize my beginning jaunt or was I thrown onto a two wheeled contraption and made to ride or die trying?
Do I recall the first time I rode a bike? No. But I do recall the essence of my youth, the failure to feel secure in a home with balance and stability reflective of a tricycle’s support for a budding biker. I recall as I grew older being placed in circumstances that I was not yet prepared to overcome like an inexperienced cyclist on two wheels tackling a steep hill.
Do I recall the first time I learned to ride a bike? No. But, now, older, secure, stable and more experienced, I’m ready to ride a mountain bike wearing freedom as my helmet—just so I can remember.