Last Saturday, fresh from having gone ice skating at a private rink in a park and anticipating my first ski lesson the next day, I decided it was time to face my looming aversion to one sport in particular – cycling. You see, I had come to loathe the phrase, “It’s like riding a bike” because, in fact, I had actually forgotten how to do the one activity everyone agreed that, once learned, was forever ingrained into your muscle memory. So, in true form, I made it my mission to source a road bike and start riding ASAP.
I started off my search on Offer Up and Craigslist, but the few leads I had on bikes that looked rideable lead to nowhere. I then decided that, if I wanted to have a chance at achieving the super ambitious goal of riding the annual double century race in July, that I needed a proper bike that didn’t have dubious origins.
Coming across a certified pre-owned online bike shop, I perused their selection and found three bikes that met (or surpassed) my needs. Taking screenshots of the specs, I texted them to my friend to have her avid cyclist boyfriend review my picks. After giving his blessing to one of the choices, I immediately hit the purchase button on a sleek, matte black, very lightly used, 16-pound, carbon fork, Specialized bicycle with expensive aftermarket upgrades. Remember, your girl likes nice things.
Now, just like most children, I had learned to ride a bike around the age of six. I don’t remember learning how to ride a bike, but I do remember spending countless hours cruising through the neighborhood streets and nursing the occasional wound when things got too crazy. The last time I rode a bike semi-regularly was at the age of 11. I didn’t really give bike riding too much of a thought until my mid-twenties when my best-friend-turned-triathlon-enthusiast convinced me to give her bike a try, hoping that I would get bit by the cycling bug.
What happened, however, was the complete opposite.
Driving to an open, suburban sports park with Astro-turf, we got out and wheeled her bike to the middle of the field. Confidently throwing my leg over the saddle, I could barely reach the ground with both feet but, undeterred, decided to forge ahead – and launched myself off the bike mere seconds later. My legs had hung listlessly by the sides, unsure of what to do to reach the pedals, let alone propel myself forward. With my friend encouraging me to give it another go, I cautiously hopped back on and waited for the familiar feeling of riding a bike to infuse my legs with knowledge and magically start riding around the field. That moment never came. After about an hour of barely managing to pedal more than a few feet at a time and wobbling wildly on the bike, I called it a day.
I couldn’t believe it. Somehow, I had debunked the popular adage that you never forget how to ride a bike. Clearly, I had forgotten and my twenty-five-year-old self was too embarrassed to practice it. Instead of buying a bike and relearning how to ride it, I convinced myself that cycling wasn’t for me and that I would simply avoid having to do it for the rest of my life.
Fast forward to this year and my more adventurous outlook on life, I decided that I wasn’t going to allow past fears to dictate my future. So, I set a very ambitious cycling goal for six months down the road and invested a good amount of money towards the first step in making that happen by getting my very own road bike.
On Thursday, my bike had arrived and I was both excited and scared that this was actually happening. What awaited was an extremely large, but lightweight, box with my new (to me) bike inside. I awkwardly pushed it into the elevator and even more awkwardly manhandled into my small apartment. Sophie (my dog) wasn’t too pleased with this oversized intrusion taking over her latest nap spot, but I had bigger concerns.
The bike was packaged into two parts that would supposedly make assembly easy to do in less than ten minutes. Not bothering to read the instructions (I rarely do), I ripped into the box and removed all components from the box. Staring at the bike pieces leaned against the oven and examining the hex tools included, I picked up the front wheel and attempted to slide it in between the brake calipers. Looking at the pads, I made the executive decision to remove them so that the wheel would fit into the fork. After a few minutes of fruitlessly attempting to secure it in place, I finally got the bright idea to go to the bike website and see if they had an unboxing or assembly video. And, of course, they did.
Fast-forwarding through the video until they got to the part demonstrating how to secure the front wheel on a road bike, I was horrified to realize that removing the brake calipers was completely unnecessary as there’s a lever on the side to adjust the width. I quickly put them back on and, locating the lever, made sure it still worked, which it did. Still, the front wheel just wasn’t settling into the fork properly, but I assumed the front wheel was just supposed to have more movement and let it be. Thirty minutes later, after adjusting the seat height and the saddle position, I looked at my newly put-together bike and figured now was as good a time as any to give it a go. Moving the box and packaging out of the way, I cleared a path in my entryway/kitchen/living room and attempted to mount the bike.
I failed. I tried again and again over the next 15 minutes and managed to get one foot on the pedal but still failed to get both feet on at the same time. Deciding I needed, a break, I did some work for a few hours, and then, once I assumed the apartment building parking garage would be devoid of people, made my way down.
I immediately noted that the front wheel was making squeaking sounds but figured I had tightened a bolt too tight and that it would loosen as I rode it.
I like using my building’s parking garage as a training ground for new activities because 1. I don’t want anyone to witness my failures and 2. I don’t want to feel pressured to move faster than I’m comfortable doing.
With a few self-pep talks and calming breaths, I once again threw my leg over the saddle…and pedaled! I couldn’t believe it. Now, I was only able to pedal for a few moments, but a wave of relief washed over me that I had actually done it. Maybe some subconscious part of me, at some level, vaguely remembered the motion after all. Pumped with new-found confidence, I continued practicing mounting and starting on the bike but grew more concerned with the groaning noises coming from the front wheel. Not wanting to destroy the bike a few hours after having received it, I called it a night and resolved to call the REI bike shop in the morning.
The next morning, I was in luck that my neighborhood REI bike shop was willing to look over my bike. Ten minutes later, I wheeled it two blocks to the shop. I found the man I had spoken to over the phone at the counter and explained my concerns. He went about unscrewing the front wheel and immediately asked me about the missing part. I was confused, but as he described what the tiny, but essential, part looked like, I realized that was why the front wheel was uneven. Forever grateful that I still had all the bike packaging, I quickly walked back to the apartment, found the missing component, and walked right back to the bike counter, He confirmed that was the correct part and said my bike should be ready in about twenty minutes. I figured I would just walk around the store in the meantime.
A short while later, I received an email that my bike was done and made my way back to the counter. He assured me that my bike was a good quality one with great parts and that it barely looked used. He then mentioned that the brake calipers weren’t put on correctly and that was what was causing the squeaking sound. He also pointed out that the bike wheel was reversed and that the tires were deflated. I sheepishly admitted to both being my fault and explained that it was my first bike as an adult. Softening a bit, he spent the next 15 minutes helping me get familiarized with all the gears, brakes, and other components on my bike. I listened intently, soaking in all the tidbits he was providing. After paying a mere $11 for the whole workup, I happily wheeled my silent and smooth bike back home.
Right after I had ordered my bike, I sent a panicked text to another friend who mainly bikes everywhere. I told her that I had bought a bike that would arrive later that week and had no idea what I was doing. She offered to meet me at my apartment that Saturday morning to show me the ropes.
I woke up extra early Saturday morning determined to at least get comfortable mounting, dismounting, turning, braking, and riding mostly straight before my meetup a few hours later. I figured it was my responsibility to at least get the basics down so that we could focus on other things during our time together.
After a couple of hours in the garage, I had managed to get comfortable enough on the bike that I felt I could at least attempt to ride in public.
I met her out front and she noted that I had chosen a very nice bike. She suggested we ride to a trail at a nearby park a few blocks away, but I told her that I hadn’t really ridden a bike since I was 11 and that maybe we should start out riding around the block a few times. She agreed that was a good plan of action and told me to ride ahead of her.
I think I must have been nervous about being in public because it took me a couple of attempts to even get on the bike. Rounding the first corner resulted in me hitting my calf on a parking sign. I then remembered I had brakes and found it much easier to avoid obstacles after that. We continued riding through alleyways, uphill, downhill, and mostly on sidewalks for the next two hours, but towards the end, the saddle was really starting to become too painful to power through it. We ended our ride-along back at my building entrance. I was so grateful to have my first outdoor riding experience be with someone as patient and encouraging as she was. I promised to practice during the week (with a softer saddle) and we agreed to meet up the following Saturday to bike to the trail she had initially suggested.
It’s so incredible to experience the shift in mentality that comes with overcoming something you were so hell-bent on avoiding. I’m looking forward to continuing with cycling and it’s wild to think that two weeks ago, I couldn’t have imagined that I’d be as far as I am now with relearning how to ride a bike.
The moral of the story is that although you can forget how to ride a bike, learning how to ride one again is mostly determined by mental willingness rather than physical ability. As I’m learning with all these new experiences, your attitude towards anything in life is directly correlated to the outcome. Just wanting to do something is half the battle and with the right mindset, you really can do whatever you set your mind to, even if it’s an activity you’ve been avoiding for decades.
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