Magic Carpet

I remember first seeing that little, blue Schwinn bike.  It was sitting in the living room on my fifth birthday.  I was excited—and terrified.  Flying around on only two wheels was a scary thought.  How can you balance on that narrow base?  Only a tiny bit of the bike actually touches the ground; that can’t be safe.  Still, I went bravely out with my dad to try it.  And promptly gave up.  I fell on the gravel road in front of our house, I didn’t like the bumpy ride over the giant rocks (okay, gravel isn’t giant, but it looked really big from the top of that bike), and the bike obviously didn’t want me to ride it. 

My dad put training wheels on the bike, and I happily rode on four wheels for two years.  When I was almost seven, the training wheels came off over my protests and against my better judgment.  The bike certainly hadn’t gotten safer in those two years.  If anything, it was worse since I was taller and had further to fall.  My dad didn’t believe that the bike wanted to hurt me, and those training wheels came off anyway.  I was too scared to sit on the seat to ride.  I sat on the crossbar between the seat and handlebars and coasted along, unable to reach the pedals from that awkward angle, but safe sitting only a foot off the ground. 

One day I decided to sit on the seat and coast.  I was tall enough for my feet to easily reach the ground on both sides, so I figured I probably wouldn’t die up there.  Before I knew it, I was riding, feet on the pedals, flying over the street.  I’d never been so fast in my life.  I rode a magic carpet on two wheels, a thoroughbred racehorse with thundering hooves, a space craft capable of escaping the pull of gravity and flying to the moon.  It was magical, freeing, FAST.  I ran inside to make my parents come see my newfound talent.  They stood in awe of my magical self and my superb bike (probably greatly relieved that I’d finally stopped being scared of that little blue bike). 

After years of alternately trying out her bike and avoiding her bike, my granddaughter learned the magic trick of flying on two wheels.  Her proud grin, splitting her face in two, showed her own delight in knowing how to ride a racehorse and a space ship.  Proud grandparents applauded her mastery of her fabulous bicycle, feeling awed and amazed (and not a little relieved that she overcame her fear of that little pink bike). 

I relived my own discovery of freedom while she discovered hers.  I dragged out my bike—big and black, now—and sped around the neighborhood.  It’s still magical and fun and fast.  Go out and borrow a bike from one of the taller kids in your neighborhood.  Try it out.  Rediscover the wonder of racing in the Kentucky Derby, flying to the moon, and swooping over distant lands on your own magic carpet.  Wear a helmet, and have fun!