Balance and gravity: foes to bike ridingProtective gear can't

Topeka Capital-Journal, The, Sep 21, 2008

When I was a youngster learning to ride a two-wheel bike, it was a no-nonsense lesson -- no helmet, and I was knocked senseless for a few days.

Like most my age, I learned to pedal and balance on a no-frills bike the hard way -- uphill both ways, in the blinding snow, pouring rain or in the sizzling heat of late summer. Oh, wait. That was our walk to school.

I still think learning to ride a bike back in my day was much more difficult than it is today. We didn't have helmets to protect our noggins. There were no fancy elbow pads to prevent funny bone bang-ups. Nor did we possess padded kneepads to protect our patellas.

When you hopped on a bike with an adult holding on to the back of the seat, you were approximately 15 minutes away from a severe road rash or an ambulance ride to the hospital. If the former happened, we knew mom would be waiting in the kitchen with ice cream to help heal our wounds. If the latter occurred, rubbery Jell-O cubes and broth would be served up alongside the bill for stitches.

I learned to ride in the alley behind our home in Chicago. It was the safest and flattest place to learn in the neighborhood. The street wasn't an option because it was packed with cars that, from what I remember, actually never moved because everyone was afraid of losing their parking spaces.

The sidewalks were too bumpy, and the grass, well, you didn't dare touch a blade of grass with anything but a push mower or hand trimmer. If there was a footprint in the neighbor's grass, he was checking shoe sizes up and down the block to find the perpetrator.

With the invention of protective gear, the bike-riding rite of passage is much safer but still riddled with anxiety for first- timers. They must contend with two constants that don't change from generation to generation -- balance and gravity. They are two items on the list of things in life you really can't explain to a child. To understand, one must personally experience the consequences when the two are combined with a moving object.

I chose the cemetery for my daughter's bike-riding lessons for three reasons: It would not be crowded. The road is fairly soft and flat in parts. No one, other than us, could get hurt.

In retrospect, there was one more reason. I remember my dzadza (Polish grandpa) cheering me on in the alley when I was learning to ride without training wheels. I thought it would be appropriate for my daughter's dzadza to be there in spirit.

We stopped at his grave so she could recite the Angel of God prayer. She then fastened on her helmet, elbow pads and kneepads before pushing off down the road, wobbling most of the way.

The crash looked painful; the bike landed on top of her and the wheels continued to spin. But she was laughing by the time I reached her. She knew she'd be enjoying ice cream and not Jell-O cubes and broth.

Vicki Estes is a Topeka freelance

writer. She can be reached at vaestes@sbcglobal.net.