A New Bike

Posted on May 4, 2010 by Suzanne Silvonen: "i really, really, really want a new bike!!! ugh!!!!"

Hahahaha, I think the last time I said this, I was maybe 6 years old! Suzanne is actually a very athletic person, always posting updates about running marathons and working out. I commend her! If only I was so motivated...

Let's take a trip back in time, shall we? When I was 6 years old, in first grade, I wanted a bike so bad I could taste it. Some of my friends not only had bikes, but had bikes with no training wheels. I had a bike, a little piece of shit, with training wheels that rattled their plastic nonsense all around the playground's asphalt. Mocking me. I wanted a REAL bike, a big girl bike. And I wanted to ride it without restraint, with the wind blowing in my hair, like the big kids.

Lo and behold, for my 7th birthday, I got a real bike. My cousin Nikki was the only brave soul who would embark on the challenge of teaching me to ride it. It was summer and I lived across the street from my school, so we had a huge open playground in which to perfect my new-found big-kidness. Nikki's method of teaching me to ride a bike was, to say the least, a little mean. I think I remember her saying something like "don't be a pussy, just go for it." And I wanted to. It was so scary, climbing on that real bike, wobbling to and fro, wanting so bad to just get it right. I fell and fell and fell. And Nikki just told me to get up, try again, and don't be scared. At one point, after giving me a push, she ran away and hid. And I rode that bike. If Lance Armstrong would have been known at that point, I could have rivaled him on any bike...at least for about 20 feet, until I fell again. When I got up and looked around to celebrate with Nikki, she was gone. I yelled for her, and she yelled back from her hiding place, "good job goober, do it again!" I was shaking. I was angry. I was determined. I didn't need her anyway. I got on that bike, gave myself a little shove with my foot, and pedaled like my legs were on fire. I rode, and rode, and rode, in big circles all around that playground. I heard Nikki yelling, saw her waving her arms out of the corner of my eye, turned to look at her, and almost ran into the monkey bars. But I didn't. I corrected myself, wobbled a little, and pedaled on, all the way back to where she was jumping and flailing about. She had to reach out and grab me to help me stop - we hadn't really gotten to that part yet, and otherwise I'd have been in a big heap on the ground, bloody and broken for sure.

Nikki taught me to ride a bike. My first real bike. She actually gave me a hug in the end and told me she was proud of me. We high-fived until our hands turned red. We danced around a lot, and did some cartwheels. She knew what I needed - independence - and she gave it to me. Or, she got bored and wanted to sit inside the big tractor tire on the playground and pick her nose. I don't know. But what I do know is that it is one of my favorite memories with her. I think, a time we both learned something...about life, about freedom, and about each other. And I wouldn't give it back for a million new bikes. Or a million dollars. Thanks, Nikki.