To Kids Riding Bikes

Frankly, biking scares me now. Biking on a street with cars and the people who drive them has become a distant memory. No helmet or rearview mirror or little bell can assure me I will survive the ride. And trails are full of rocks and tree roots and other bikers at very high speeds. No, it’s not for me.

But I remember, physically remember, what it feels like to really ride a bike, to feel that kind of control and speed. We didn’t have bikes as cave people, but biking is a primal feeling. For me, it was the first experience of actual speed, a speed I would never accomplish on my own, a speed you can’t feel in a car.

One year, when I wanted to upgrade from my no-gear hand-me-down purple faux-blue jean looking banana seat bike to a 10 speed Schwinn, my mom took me to the bike shop on Lovers Lane to get an idea of a bike I would like. I picked out a beautiful, sleek brown 10-speed model. Or at least, I wished for. I was advised, clearly, that if I wanted a bike, that pretty much that would be all I would get for Christmas that year. This was a big deal. I wanted it.

Glorious. Is there any other word to describe that feeling? Freedom. Free. Agency. Range. Suddenly, a place that is much too far to walk to becomes a 20 minute bike ride. The pool. The movie theater. So many more places to spend my babysitting money.

Yesterday, I was running in a neighborhood with hills. Early in the morning. July. Most kids are still sleeping and their parents are drinking coffee in the peace and quiet. But one boy is out on his bike. He rides up beside me. He’s not sitting down, but standing on the pedals, pumping hard. We are headed up hill. His dog follows him--a small brown dog with long ears that fly back. Somehow this short dog is keeping up. He reaches the top of the hill just before me and calls out to the dog, “Come on!”

He lets out a whoop as he rides downhill, still standing but not pedaling. His shirt flaps in the wind as he rides right down the middle of the street. He is nothing but motion and joy and 8 AM July cool and 10 years old and eternal. He is in complete contact with the world. He could be anyone, but--joy of joys--he is this boy, right here. The dog is this dog. Right here. 

I feel it, watching him. I am running downhill and the gravity takes me. Let go. Ride. 

You are--I am--eternal.