Riding a Bike

The boy wanted to go for a bike ride today.

Taking him for a ride is a big production for the time being. He’s still learning so he needs training wheels. That means that he can’t really ride on anything other than a smooth surface. Our driveway is all gravel and obvious our lawn is grass- except where it isn’t, which is more than I like.

But I digress…

So I loaded up the Wife’s bike, the boy’s bike and the lass’ bike into the car and we went up to a bike/ walking path up in the next town. The loading also consisted of putting the bike rack on and packing roller blades. Nothing like following up the bike riding with roller blading.

We got to the bike path and I unloaded all the bikes and everyone was off. I tagged along behind to play pit crew for the lass, whom stop frequently for drinks, rocks, pebbles, acorns, flowers, blades of grass and whatever else catches her gnat-lifespan-long attention. The Wife and the boy got well ahead and were actually on the way back when the lass and I crossed their path.

The Wife made the observation, as had the boy, that while he was riding the training wheels were not touching the ground for long stretches. The Wife was able to witness it; the boy could tell because of the sound the training wheels make on the ground, or more correctly the absence of the noise in this case.

When we got back to the car, the Wife traded in her bike for her roller blades. The boy decided to make a mechanical adjustment. He’d thought beforehand to bring along a wrench so he could take his training wheels off. Now he opted to put the wrench to work. On a side note, with all the other little things that I have to take care of on a daily basis, it’s nice that he’s able to take care of something like that. He can even put them back on. I just had to hold the bike up as he took the second training wheel off.

I helped him ride the bike by holding the back side of his seat as he pedaled. I had to use a fast walk to keep up with him. After a few times back and forth, I had a sense that he was close to riding on his own because I really didn’t have to correct his balance much. He was pretty steady.

And then, it happened.

He started pedaling and my fast walk became a jog, and then a run. And then I couldn’t keep up with him. So I let him go.

And he was off.

He was about 30 feet away from me when he glanced to the side and realized I wasn’t there. I’ll confess that I was sure that he would bite it shortly thereafter.

But he didn’t. He got to about 50 away when he finally started slowing down. Then he was able to glide to a stop. As he started to look back, I raised my arms up above my head in a “TOUCHDOWN” signal and had a grin from ear-to-ear. He, through a half-smile, half-smirk, asked:

Did I just ride all that way myself?

The Wife came zipping by and we both congratulated him on his moment of triumph. He no longer needed training wheels. He didn’t need someone holding onto him.

He could ride a bike.

I wish that was the end of the story. I wish I could say that he spent the rest of the day basking in the glow of his accomplishment.

Alas, I cannot. The afternoon was about to go downhill. Fast.

After a couple more runs where I helped get him going, he started to get frustrated that he couldn’t get himself going. Then, he got mad because he couldn’t turn the bike. Then he fell on a curb and banged his shin. That enraged him further. I kept trying to get him to calm down. Telling him that 5 minutes earlier, he couldn’t do ANY of what he was now doing.

But that wasn’t good enough. He wanted it all. Now. He was running on emotion now, and not the good kind.

Then, he fell again- for what turned out to be the last time. After he fell, he picked up an acorn and tossed it at the road. Then he sat on the curb and steamed. I picked up his bike and sat on it, figuring he’d cool off and then try some more. The Wife started taking pictures with the cell phone.

He growled at her to stop.

When she snapped another picture of him, he stood up, grabbed a handful of pebbles and THREW them at her.

I … could … NOT … believe it.

I took the bike and brought it to the car and he started to cry. He wanted to ride more. I told him he was done and that he should get in the car. He told me no, he wanted to ride more. I told him he could ride at home, but not there. Not now. He had just thrown stones at his mother. He was done. He wouldn’t even be allowed to roller blade. His day out was done.

He screamed at me. Not just a yell. But a primal scream that started somewhere in his toes. I’m pretty sure it broke glass.

I was finally able to get him in the car by explaining to him all the things I could take away from him. After that, we headed home.

And that, was the day the boy learned to ride a bike.