Putting training wheels on your bicycle as a 20-year-old is more than a little embarrassing.
It’s not that I didn’t learn how to ride a bike when I was younger — biking just never clicked with me. When I was 4, I was speeding around my cul-de-sac with one hand waving, my handlebar streamers trailing in the breeze like jellyfish tentacles and my Velcro-shoe-clad feet pressing hard into the pedals.
And then a big evil bumblebee landed on my handlebar grip, stinging my palm as I grabbed back onto my bike.
A horrific coincidence of “firsts” is the reason all of my childhood photos depict me rollerblading alongside my dad. There was absolutely no way I was getting back on a bike. And the traumas just kept coming.
At summer camp, as a pre-teen, I was assigned to a four-day biking trip around Washington’s San Juan Islands. With a day to go before departure, it took tears and a tumble off of the bike in front of all of my camp friends before I was reassigned to the trip for the athletically challenged: sailing.
In high school, my mom, a superstar athlete, urged me to try again and helped me pick out a baby-blue upright bicycle that seemed to be made for old women who needed to mount the thing without injuring themselves. I called it the “foot-braker” because it allowed me to drag my toes along the ground whenever I wanted to stop.
When I turned 15 and took my first driving test, the foot-braker was retired to the garage as I traded two flimsy wheels for four big ones.
It wasn’t until after I started college that I felt comfortable riding a bike in front of anyone other than my mom. When I transferred to ASU and discovered that the campus was about 10 times larger than my previous university's, I knew it was time to invest some real effort into learning how to ride a bicycle.
Last summer my best friend left me her old mint green, beaten-up beach cruiser, complete with bent wire basket. The bike’s seat was set to accommodate her petite frame; being 5 feet 7 inches and extremely uncoordinated, I thought this was just about right for me (though I’m now aware of what a clown I must have looked like).
Arizona’s summer nights were ideal for my solo biking endeavor. I shakily rode to the Tempe campus each afternoon for summer school classes, worked on homework until sundown and then set out for a ride around campus. I’d zoom up and down Palm Walk, rode circles around Coor and sped past the Life Sciences buildings.
The following mornings, a 6-year-old boy and his dad would fly past me on their tandem bicycle.
I’m pretty sure ASU Police thought I was insane, but spending hours alone on the bike was what I really needed to boost my confidence and prepare for traversing a campus full of students while simultaneously texting and listening to my iPod.
I’m still naïve when it comes to bike maintenance (a homeless guy was the first person to point out that both of my tires were completely flat), and my friends who remember my rollerblading days still laugh at me when I talk about my bike adventures.
You probably wouldn’t recognize me now as I bounce around campus on a brand new bike the color of flaming blood oranges (or by its nickname, an unmentionably derogatory term for red-headed folk).
But know that anytime you encounter something new or frightening, it cannot possibly be as intimidating as a bicycle to a 20-year-old who can barely balance on two feet, let alone two (possibly deflated) narrow rubber tubes held up by some bars.
Reach the reporter at melody.parker@asu.edu
