I learned how to bike just a little later in life than many, at the age of 25. My friend, Shelby, who is an avid cyclist, had high hopes that I could learn to ride a bike. I was less optimistic but, not knowing how to say no, I gave it a half-hearted yes.
I had tried to learn how to ride a bike once before. In high school, a different friend tried to teach me, but that quickly came to an end after I hit a curb, flew off the bike, and attracted a small crowd of spectators.
But it was different this time. Over the course of a few hours, I went from scooting the bike across the Recycle-A-Bike parking lot with my feet, to eventually picking my feet up and pedaling whenever I could. By the end of the day, I was riding in wobbly circles around the parking lot, feet fully off the ground. My venture into the world of cycling had begun.
Through this experience, I gathered a few kernels of wisdom to share with other adults who have yet to embark on their cycling journeys.
Firstly, I learned that finding a bike that is the right size (or even a little too small is okay) is like 75% of the process of learning how to ride. Measuring in at a whopping 5’1”, I had a hard time finding a bike for an adult of my stature, so my first bike was a large children’s bike that was gifted to me. In a favorable turn of events, the bike ended up being perfect, as it was big enough to sit comfortably on, but low enough that my feet touched the ground in case I needed to regain my balance. I have also heard that getting the right size bike and putting the seat all the way down may accomplish the same thing.
The second lesson I learned: falling is not just part of the learning process but of cycling in general. Even the most experienced cyclists I know have had their fair share of tumbles. The key is knowing how to fall (and of course, always wearing a helmet).
As a side note: I am crier. I fall, I cry. It is a fact of life. My fellow criers out there likely get it. Once I learned to let go of the idea that crying is inherently embarrassing, I found that crying after falls and dings is liberating. Cry it out, queen. Get it out there — there’s no shame in that.
Lastly, to hell with being good at biking, I say!
I have come to not only accept that I will never go very fast or very far but relish the fact that I am competition for no one. I will win no medals, I walk my bike at any hill I encounter — and hey, I still proudly call myself a cyclist. I am doing something I was once convinced I just didn’t have the ability to do, and that is more than enough of an accomplishment for me.
This process has reminded me that it’s never too late to learn. Biking, just like swimming and learning how to drive, was one of the many things that I didn’t learn at the same time as many of my peers. There were many factors that went into this — not having much access to safe places to practice near my home, parents with clinical anxiety, not being able to afford a bike, etcetera, etcetera.
I could have continued to lament what I hadn’t learned and feel inferior — and I did, for a few years — but I also had the opportunity and the resources to make a change. This included the patient friends who were willing to teach me, organizations like the Providence Bike Collective that provide access to affordable bikes, and being surrounded by bike paths that provide a safe space to go on bike rides. Biking reminds me how grateful I am — to be part of a community, to be where I am in life, and to be along for the ride.
