Of the three events which make up a triathlon–swimming, biking, and running–I enjoy the biking event the most, which is not surprising because for as far back as I can remember, I have always enjoyed biking. When I was young I liked the physical activity of pedaling to transport myself from one location to another. The faster or the further I traveled on my bike, the more I enjoyed it. Later as an adult, I appreciated it not only as a good activity to stay in shape but also as a recreational activity with my family.
I can still remember the moment when I first rode a two-wheeler on my own. I was four years old and living in Scapa, a rural community on the prairie where my Dad taught elementary school. Scapa consisted of a general store, a post office, a granary, a two-room school, and our house. To get to our house you had to turn off the main gravel road passing through Scapa onto a road that led to school and then onto a lane that led to our house. The road that led to the school was graveled, but the lane that led to our house was dirt. It was the perfect lane to learn to ride a bike because the worst that would happen if you wiped out is that you would get covered with dust, rather than getting road rash. Dad would run alongside, helping me to balance the bike, and then like all good fathers do, he would let go. I should have expected that he would let go because he was also the dad who thought that a good way to remove a tooth was to tie a string to it and then tie the other end of the string to a doorknob and slam the door to pull out my tooth. You know, quick and painless. So, when Dad let go of my bike and I had to balance it on my own I thought for sure I was going to wipeout, but to my surprise, I just kept right on going! My joy immediately turned to concern because I was now approaching the gravel road and I didn’t know how to stop. Dad had neglected to tell me that part. I finally jumped off the pedals and my shoes skidded along the gravel road to stop me. And that was it: I learned how to ride a bike and have been biking ever since.
When I was in grade four Dad landed a new teaching job and we moved to Alix where I no longer had to ride my bike on gravel roads. I had a used bike at the time and was looking forward to my birthday because I knew Mom and Dad were shopping for a bike as a present. I had to wait until the evening to get my new bike because it was a school day, and when I finally got to see it, I am sure Mom and Dad could tell I was disappointed. It wasn’t the bike I was dreaming of: I wanted one of those cool CCM bikes with a banana seat, sissy bar, chopper handlebars, and a three-speed stick shift mounted to the top bar. Instead, I got a regular bike that was dressed up with a banana seat and handlebars that looped around in a circle. To me, it was like putting lipstick on a pig. I got over it quickly– it wasn’t like every kid in town had a CCM bike–and it became my source of transportation until high school.
I don’t recall ever riding my bike just for the sake of riding a bike; it was always used to get somewhere, whether it was to a friend’s house, the convenience store, or the school grounds to meet up with friends. I had many different routes that I used to get around Alix, but the one I remember most was the one I used to get home. The route ran alongside the school and had a sidewalk with a 30-degree turn as it went around a corner of the school. At the turn, the ground sloped down and away from the sidewalk and then leveled off after a few meters, and if I rode my bike fast and went straight rather than around the turn I would fly off the sidewalk and catch some serious air before my tires hit the ground. One day, to prepare for the jump, I pedaled hard to gain lots of speed, and the instant I reached the end of the sidewalk I pulled up on the handlebars to gain as much hang time as possible. I was probably going for a new world’s record for how far one’s bike could fly through the air before landing first on the back tire and then coming down on the front tire, just like a jet plane coming in for a landing. I hope I enjoyed those brief seconds in the air because when my tires hit the ground my feet slipped off the pedals and a part of my anatomy was introduced to the top bar on my bike. There were no broken bones from the wipeout that followed, but I was in a lot of pain and had to walk the rest of the way home.
When I reached grade 10 I got my driver’s licence, and despite getting a new 10-speed bike, it wouldn’t be until I was married and living in Red Deer that I started doing a lot of biking again. Shortly after our first child was born, Michelle and I bought some mountain bikes and a bike trailer. It was not as fancy as the newer bike trailers that parents can buy today, but it allowed us to carry our kids to the parks on the Red Deer trail system. One of our favorite destinations was Rotary Park because it had the best playground for preschoolers, and we would get up on a weekend morning, pack a picnic lunch, and bike to the park with our kids in tow.
Later when our sons got older, I had the opportunity to teach them how to ride a bike and I found myself teaching them much like how Dad taught me. Except that I made sure they knew how to use the brakes and had helmets on. There was a sense of pride watching them ride on their own, much like seeing them walk for the first time.
By the time the boys were in elementary school, I had started doing triathlons, so Michelle and I thought it would be a good idea to enter them into a Kids of Steel triathlon; after all, they all liked to swim, bike, and run. We looked forward to training with them, and I was especially looking forward to the bike rides. Although they never complained, I don’t think they loved it as much as we thought they would. Perhaps they didn’t like us nagging them to go out and train, or the physical discomfort they felt while racing, or maybe it was the competition that involved a lake swim on a frigid day that made them not fall in love with the sport. Whatever it was they sure were not saying, “Hey Mom and Dad that was fun, can enter another one?”
May 1st when I turn 60 marks 56 years since I rode a bike for the first time. Today I look forward to seeing our granddaughter Eleanor ride the new Strider balance bike that Michelle and I gave to her for Christmas. It’s a cool bike with no pedals and a low seat that allows her to use her feet to push herself forward. It is a much better way of learning how to ride a bike. Perhaps, I will see her ride a two-wheeler for the very first time; regardless, both Michelle and I can’t wait to go bike riding with her someday.
One Last Kick 