Bikes

Everyone else I know rides a bike.

And everyone else that I know loves riding their bike.

But I was that one kid that never actually learned to ride a bike, because I was positive that all bikes were monsters sent directly from the devil on his throne in hell itself, bent upon the sole purpose of making me as miserable as possible.

I guess that this completely “irrational” fear of bikes with killer jaws and an almost rabid desire to devour small children stems from my first experience with falling off my bike. I mean, we all know its going to happen, but nobody really expects it to happen to them. As little kids we all have this idea that we somehow possess some skill that permits us perfect balance on a bike.

And then we try it.

After attempting to ride the monster, and failing miserably, most kids can just get up and try again. Not me, though. When I got my first accident, it was brutal.  

How most kids have their first accident on a bike:

How most kids react to their first fall off of a bike:

How I had my first accident on a bike:

How I reacted to my first fall off of a bike:

After that moment, It became utterly clear to me that all bikes, unicycles, tricycles, and all other pedaled forms of transportation, even the “Flintstone-mobile”, were evil and should be crushed by the overwhelming power of justice. My parents, however, didn’t exactly agree with me on this point. They insisted that I learn how to ride a bike, even if I felt that it was detrimental to my own personal safety. They tried everything to get me to ride a bike.

They tried bribing me, they tried grounding me for short durations. . . when neither of those tactics worked, they tried the one that almost worked. The “Guilt Trip” and the “Feeling of Alienation”.

They bought myself and my two brothers brand new mountain bikes. I guess they were really nice bikes, with different “gears”, and other things that I never ended up figuring out what they were. Mine was a big red one, and looking back on it, it probably wasn’t that big of a bike, but to me, size comparison meant that the bike was gargantuan, but it had slots that changed how high the seat sat on the bike, and how far away the pedals and handlebars were from the bike. I sat on it with the kickstand down, and it felt really comfortable. I believe that I wanted to learn, I really did. But after what happened with that first bike, I didn’t see what this one possessed that would stop me from falling again. I mean, yeah it had cooler brakes, gears, bigger wheels, and was a better bike, but I didn’t get why I should trust this bike any more than I trusted the last one. Because I had trusted the last one, hadn’t I? And I felt that all bikes would try just as hard as that one did to maul me and cause some of the most horrid, unbearable pain that I had ever experienced.
So I decided that I would not ride the bike. I would not learn, and there would be no way that they could make me learn. I’m pretty sure that to this day, that bike sits in my basement, gathering dust and awaiting its time to be able to cause maximum destruction to me.