Dear Mom I want to ride my bike

Dear Mom I want to ride my bike

Last year for Claire’s birthday I got her a bicycle. It was a pink Barbie bicycle. It had a little bicycle that was attached to your handlebars where your Barbie could ride with you as you peddled around the park. Claire was delighted when she got it. It was just like on TV.

“When can we go ride my bike?” She would ask me. We live on a big hill and our driveway is pretty steep. Not a good place for a kid to ride a bike. But, as a stay at home dad, we made daily trips to the park, or really any number of parks. There was the penguin park, which may actually be called Penguin Park, because it had a giant penguin in it. If it was not named Penguin Park that was surely what everyone called it. At least everyone I knew. There was the castle park, which was not named castle park, it was Harris park, or the old Miller park but it had a jungle gym in it that had castle shaped parts so Claire called it the castle park. There was the pirate ship park. There was not a pirate ship there, nor was there really anything that looked like a pirate ship, but once Claire and I had played pirate there and pretended one of the climbing things was our ship, so it was forever known as Pirate Ship Park.

Today, that was our destination. We put her bike in the back of the truck and took off toward Lowenstein park, err, Pirate Ship Park. As I unloaded the bike she was at my feet the entire time. As I moved toward the sidewalk she was almost clinging to my leg. Placing the bike on the path she was quickly astride. It was higher than her tricycle and I had adjusted the seat to the lowest setting so she could reach the ground. There, astride her new pink Barbie bike the world was her oyster. She adjusted the Barbie on her bike and adjusted the chin strap on her helmet and carefully put her feet on the pedals and… That was it. She was sitting on her bike, helmet and all and she was not moving. Somehow just sitting on it was enough.

“Push the pedals,” I encouraged.

She started to move a bit and a look of terror came over her face. I reached out to hold the bike. It was not really falling over, nor did I think it was even possible, the training wheels had a pretty broad stance. But it seemed to calm her down, knowing daddy’s hand was there to protect her.

“I can do it!” she yelled at me. This was her way of saying don’t push me, I can peddle, but please don’t let go, because I feel safer with you holding onto the bike.
So with me holding her bike we started up the path. There was a long hill and I pushed just a bit to help her get going, not enough she would notice I was doing all the work but enough so she had forward motion. When we reached the top of the hill there was a broad level spot where she actually peddled under her own power for almost 30 feet. Then the downhill portion came into play and I found myself holding onto the back of the bike to prevent it from going too fast.

Now, too fast is a subjective term. For me, too fast would have been faster than I can run, for her too fast was, well, moving. For some reason, faced with the long downhill slope she was terrified. Though I held tight to the back of the bike as we moved at a pace slower than a slow walk, she dismounted and decided it was better to walk.

As we got to the bottom of the hill she shed her helmet and went to play on the gym. I parked the bike by a bench and waited for her to return. There were a few kids there, and Claire never met a stranger so she was quickly playing pirate or ice cream shop or whatever other game they dreamed up. She did not return to the bike. In fact after a long while I had to tell her it was time to go.
“Do you want to ride your bike again.”

“Not right now Daddy.” Then she tugged on my hand as if her small frame could coax me back to the playground and stay another hour.

“It is time for dinner.” I told her, “Aren’t you hungry?”

Pushing the bike with one hand and dragging my daughter with the other we made our way back to the truck. Only stopping for a moment for the mandatory drinking fountain pit stop that usually left her covered in water. It was not entirely her fault, the drinking fountain was a bit wild.

“Did you have fun riding your bike today?” I asked as we drove home.
“Yes.” She answered though I wondered exactly what part of riding her bike she remembered.

This was our Summer. A few times a week we would go to the park and ride our bike for 10 or 15 minutes then spend the rest of the afternoon on the playground. She never did start riding it on her own.

Over the winter she asked me a few times, “Daddy, where is my bike?”
“It is in the garage sweetie, we will get it out when it gets warmer.”
I am waiting with anticipation to see how she will ride her bike this year. Will she really ride it? Armed with a year of kindergarten under her belt will it not seem so high and will downhill not seem so fast?

In the back of my mind, I think it will be a bit different. I imagine her riding her bike alongside me as I run. That would be a nice thing, I could get my daily run in and she could ride along side. I suspect it may be another year before that happens, but it is nice to dream.

Once we tackle riding the bike I suppose it will be time to learn to swim. Maybe I should stick with the bike for the moment, I may be getting ahead of myself.

Love Mike