I was in 6th grade when I got my first real taste of freedom. It must have been spring because I remember tucking the right leg of my jeans into my socks before I threw my leg over the frame. With my left foot securely on the pedal, I had to push off and get in the saddle in one motion because the bike was too big for me. There were no helmets back then. Perhaps they had not been invented yet, more likely they were lagging the burgeoning use of seatbelts. I am glad though because now, when I throw my leg over the frame and take those first strokes even with my helmet, I can feel the ghosts of the wind whipping through my hair, dragging tears from the corners of my eyes, reddening my cheeks. That is bliss.
Over the years, I have chased that freedom on a series of bikes, new and used. After mountain biking the rail trails for years, I wanted to try road riding. I bought an ill-fitting Peugeot from a thrift shop in Monroe. The chain was rusty, but the frame was sound, so I took the top down and loaded it in the back of the Jeep. It never fit me quite right. The gears slipped a bit, and it tended to derail. None of that mattered. When I pounded up a hill, I felt like a beast. When I flew back down, freedom. I find that sometimes I hold onto things far too long because, even if they are clunky or difficult, I know how they work, and I know how to fix them when they don’t. As long as what I am doing is working for me, I am not likely to change. But there is this tipping point between comfortable but always difficult and uncomfortable but eventually easy. I know when I am desperately reaching over the fulcrum trying to tip the balance toward comfortable.
And so, it came to pass. I strolled past a Bianchi Eros in iconic Celeste green at the Seattle Bike Show. A thing of beauty, she fit me like a glove. Her solid frame, though heavy, eased the miles in the saddle. She had three chain rings in front and nine on the cassette which, for a woman built more for hauling in fish nets than cycling, was a godsend. I rode that bike for over 20 years. Except for a couple of human errors, she never failed me. I have so many great memories pedaling down country roads and paved trails. Endless hours talking to my best friend, testing our will and common sense. Endless miles, where the ache of my legs and pounding of my heart cleared my head of all my worries allowing my thoughts to weave their way into creative solutions. I loved that bike. I would howl, literally howl, on our annual New Year’s Day ride.
I took it into the local shop for some new handlebar tape a couple months ago. A minor operation that revealed a major defect. The owner broke the news to me gently. You need a new chain. It’s nearly worn through. Such a small thing. No problem really. I would just order a new chain and hope this one didn’t break while I was on the road. Then he broke the bad news to me, the cogs were worn down too. A new chain wouldn’t be able to hold onto the gears. I could either buy a new drive train or get a new bike. I felt like a three-year-old ready to pitch a fit right there in the shop. I love this bike. I don’t want a new bike. I want this bike. I have everything set just like I like it. The seat is at the right height. I just bought new lights for it. It has 27 gears!!! NOOOOOOO! (In my head). I told him I would think about it.
I was overwhelmed with all the thoughts of not wanting to give up what I was used to. I didn’t want to have to set a new bike up. I had things just like I like them, even though the truth was that the bike wasn’t perfect. It was heavy. The gears were slipping. The frame was banged up. Once I accepted that keeping it was going to become increasingly more difficult than letting it go, I was ready to embrace the possibility that I would find a new bike that fit me just as well as the old one.
I found a Trek at a shop in Spokane. It is beautiful and light. I had to ask the mechanic how it shifted. It is different that my late 90’s Bianchi. I could feel the resistance mounting an offensive as he showed me how to shift gears. I am never going to remember that. I’m going to be going up a hill and shift in the wrong direction. I will probably fall over and break a leg. Then I remembered that, at some point, I did not know how to ride a bike at all. Then, I had a banana seat bike with training wheels. Though I probably did not want them to, someone must have taken the training wheels off. When I got my first adult bike, I had to learn to shift with a lever on the top bar and break with my hands.
At every point, I had to let go of what I was used to, what was comfortable even if difficult, and reach for something new and challenging. I met those challenges. I love the new bike. I figured out the shifters. I am getting used to the saddle. I am letting go of that old bike that served me well for over 20 years and embracing the new bike which will take me farther, faster.
What are you holding onto that is not serving you well now?
4 thoughts on “As Easy as Learning to Ride a Bike”
Some great words of wisdom, Catherine! Reminds me so much of the experience of giving up my beloved little red car for a “grown up” vehicle.
I totally get that.
Another great one! I relate to the freedom of being on a bike and also needing to let go sometimes. Thanks for sharing such a big piece of your heart with us readers.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts. Cycling is especially fun because you can do it your whole life really.,