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(Illustration courtesy of Catherine Chan)The Globe and Mail
Like so many kids, last summer I learned to ride a bike. Only I am in my 30s. When I was a child, I had no one to show me. My mom never learned. My parents divorced when I was four and, in an attempt to perform parental responsibility, my father bought a bicycle. But there was only one for my brother and me to share. It was a gooey flashy green colour, not quite Ninja Turtle green, more the extraterrestrial kind. Too “boyish” for my liking. Sure, I rode it, but I never felt it quite belonged to me.
My mom eventually met someone else. And so, when my brother and I were teased because we were the only kids past six years old who still relied on training wheels, my mom’s partner at the time, removed them and proceeded to show my brother how to manoeuvre his “new” ride.
But not me because by then, I had all but completely lost interest in biking. Plus, I was scared. I was 7 and quite tall for my age, I was afraid I’d fall off. I also thought I was too old to learn anyway.
In hindsight, I didn’t fully trust my stepdad at the time. And it is important to have total confidence in the adult teaching you how to ride a bike. My brother had that bond with him. I didn’t. So, I gave up.
I didn’t necessarily see it as a problem at first. Until we moved to the suburbs where bicycles were the hot commodity of choice. On trips to the convenience store to buy candy with my friends I was always last to arrive, on foot. By then I was 12 years old.
Growing up without a dad, there are so many intangible things that you lose but don’t realize until later in life. This cycling “inadequacy” however, was a situation I could definitely see and experience the consequences of every single day. Something I eventually became ashamed of. I carried that shame throughout my adulthood even when I learned to drive and bought my own car at 18.
The hardest part was on vacations where I had to skip bicycle sightseeing tours. In San Francisco, I wished I could zip along the Golden Gate Bridge on a bike like so many others. In Amsterdam, I just wasn’t ready for those huge bike lanes. I wanted the ease so many people seemed to be having rolling around almost carelessly on two wheels.
In my early 20s, I remember being envious watching children as young as 3 learn to balance on bikes. Among them, my neighbours whom I would occasionally babysit. That’s when I knew not knowing how to ride a bike had turned into a problem that I should probably look into.
Something changed that day. The fear within was still there but something much stronger was taking over. One day I discovered a story online about Vélo-Québec’s free bike-riding workshops for adult women. I picked on the phone to sign up. No answer. I wrote an e-mail. All the sessions were fully booked. I would have to wait for next year. When the day finally came around, I was ready. I stood in that big urban park in the city’s West End, near an empty parking lot between a pool and an arena on a brilliant Saturday afternoon
Here I met women from different backgrounds, among them a young mother whose husband was biking to work every day, and who was now going on trips with her young son. She told me that she wanted to learn so that she can join on family rides.
Later, I met a 69-year-old returning to biking after decades away. She decided to give it another go now that she’s retired. Her children and husband even cleaned her bike which had sat in her garage since 1983. She told me that when she was young “boys had bikes, but not necessarily girls.” Her brothers had a lot of freedom, but she wasn’t given the same chance, she explained.
Hearing all these stories, I became so determined, so fearless. Within minutes, I was pedalling as if I had done it all my life.
I felt like anything was possible.
Still elated by the joy and freedom a bike ride brings, I headed to Canadian Tire a few days later to pick up my ride. I hesitated between a decently priced model and the bright one that first caught my attention.
I tried them both, plus a couple of others. But my eyes were set on a vintage-looking bicycle with brown handlebars and a teal frame, as if blue and green made up their mind to make the most beautiful colour. That’s the one I chose.
I can understand how buying a brand-new bike can seem a frivolous expense but I didn’t just buy a fancy mode of transportation. I was buying back time, buying the vehicle I wish I had when I was younger. Because it’s never too late.
Jessica Beauplat lives in Montreal.