Mounting and Dismounting
I was pretty young when I learned how to ride a bike. I watched my older brothers and sisters and their friends as they would speed up and down the street and around the block. I didn't have my own bicycle but I could use one of theirs as long as they weren't going anywhere. One problem I had to overcome was their bikes were too big for me and I couldn't get started normally. I would have to stand on the steps to the house, step over the bike bar and rest my foot on the perfectly positioned pedal. Then I would essentially stand on my left foot forcing the pedal down.
The walkway from the porch had a downward slope and that gave me a couple of seconds to coast toward the street as I got my other foot on the other pedal. When everything went right, I was off and riding. When things didn't go so well, I learned how to fall toward the grass and I never recall getting hurt because of that. A much more tricky feat was the stopping. Keeping your balance on a moving bicycle is pretty easy, but the slower you go the more complex the effort to remain upright.
Basically I had two strategies for the dismount. The first required a great deal of confidence in the strength of the bicycles. It is important to remember that bicycles in the 60s and 70s were made out of a superheavy and indestructible steel. Confident that nothing would happen to the bicycle, I would align my approach, like a plane heading for a runway. I would approach our driveway just fast enough to get over the gutter and then, as the bike slowed with the ascent, I would swing my right leg over the bike bar and toward the grass. Simultaneously I would jump toward the grass and push the bike toward the driveway.
That process worked well until my brother saw what I was doing with his bike. Even though the only damage was superficial paint scratching, I can now understand his irritation. I didn't want to wait until I grew several inches so I perfected the art of nearly stopping and being able to balance on the bike. This took some effort and a lot of practice, but soon I was able to direct my bicycle right toward the porch and have it come to a complete stop. At the same moment I would simply reach out with my other leg and rest it on the first step. No harm to me and no damage to the bicycle.
Sometimes the early morning sunrise helps me remember my youth, when riding a bike was a joyful means to personal development. I learned to negotiate. I learned how to fall. I learned how to get up. I learned that sometimes you have to find multiple solutions to the same problem. I also disovered that joyful learning can turn into enduring and lifelong lessons.
The walkway from the porch had a downward slope and that gave me a couple of seconds to coast toward the street as I got my other foot on the other pedal. When everything went right, I was off and riding. When things didn't go so well, I learned how to fall toward the grass and I never recall getting hurt because of that. A much more tricky feat was the stopping. Keeping your balance on a moving bicycle is pretty easy, but the slower you go the more complex the effort to remain upright.
Basically I had two strategies for the dismount. The first required a great deal of confidence in the strength of the bicycles. It is important to remember that bicycles in the 60s and 70s were made out of a superheavy and indestructible steel. Confident that nothing would happen to the bicycle, I would align my approach, like a plane heading for a runway. I would approach our driveway just fast enough to get over the gutter and then, as the bike slowed with the ascent, I would swing my right leg over the bike bar and toward the grass. Simultaneously I would jump toward the grass and push the bike toward the driveway.
That process worked well until my brother saw what I was doing with his bike. Even though the only damage was superficial paint scratching, I can now understand his irritation. I didn't want to wait until I grew several inches so I perfected the art of nearly stopping and being able to balance on the bike. This took some effort and a lot of practice, but soon I was able to direct my bicycle right toward the porch and have it come to a complete stop. At the same moment I would simply reach out with my other leg and rest it on the first step. No harm to me and no damage to the bicycle.
Sometimes the early morning sunrise helps me remember my youth, when riding a bike was a joyful means to personal development. I learned to negotiate. I learned how to fall. I learned how to get up. I learned that sometimes you have to find multiple solutions to the same problem. I also disovered that joyful learning can turn into enduring and lifelong lessons.
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