#TBT The Birth of a Cyclist

Something new I'm adding - #TBT for my stories. Might as well well start way back.

One of my earliest memories was grabbing the chain link fence crying for my mom. She just dropped me off to pre-school with a bunch of hippies (it was 1971). She turned back and flashed a smile to me as she quickly walked away. I can only imagine the tears that flowed from her eyes. After all I had a similar experiences as a parent. 

But I'm convinced that was the defining moment of my cycling career. My mom felt so bad that she likely guilted my dad into buying me that super shiny fire engine red bicycle. Complete with training wheels of course. Basically, if I had an excuse to go outside it was with my bike. I would ride up and down the sidewalk with no agenda, no search for PRs, and without any mobile device snapping photos of me.

But the best was one day, an uncle I believe, came over and decided I didn't need training wheels. He decided, I was ready. So he and my dad wrenched the training wheels off and sent me to the back of the house where we had a gentle sloping grass yard. 

My next memory? I was riding in circles up and down the slope between the other party guests. I was experiencing my first high. Wind blowing by, I  gripped my metallic like red handlebar grips and steered wherever my legs would take me. And even though I was stuck in my backyard, I was free. I couldn't be happier. I have this memory of myself grinning ear to ear while my parents smiled, drank their wine and my sister played with her friends. The world was a blur around me but the fun I experienced was as clear as day. 

So the next time you see a kid crying when they're dropped off at day care for the first time, take solice in the fact that a new cyclist is born. 

Thanks mom and dad!