The joy of riding never wears off
Being the youngest in my family meant I spent a few long years staring at my older siblings’ bikes, wishing for the opportunity to grow up too fast and get to the prescribed age of being allowed to ride a bike. When the time finally came, my brother took me to the trail behind the house and I learned to ride a heavy yellow 10-speed procured from the bicycle department at none other than the esteemed local Sears.
Even on that first wobbly ride down that bumpy dirt trail, the joy of riding along above the ground and feeling as close as a person could come to understanding what birds feel like when they take flight was immediately addictive. Even today, when I climb on my bike, I still feel that same thrill of my first ride, albeit with presumably less Rule Violations than this little tyke.
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I still feel it almost every time, the only exception is when running late for something important because of traffic, weather, or a mechanical, and even then it's fun. Few things even come close to offering a thrill every time. So many adults don't ride a bike, ever. Occasionally, when one of these weirdos visits, I convince them to take a turn on a bike. I'm yet to find one who doesn't find a smile sneak up on them. Some folks even laugh out loud.
When I was 14 years old I began working at a golf course during the summers. I woke up at the ass crack of dawn, ate a bowl of cereal, put on a pair of shorts and a golf polo, hopped on my bmx bike, and rode 10 miles to the golf course to either caddie or work in the golf bag room. Each day I would try to ride those initial 10 miles as fast as I could, timing myself from door to door. Dodging traffic, bunny hopping curbs and potholes, sprinting up the hills, it was more than just a way to get to work. It was a game and a challenge. Following a day of caddying (usually two rounds) I would be quite knackered. But, as soon as I grabbed the bike for the return home, I would ride a wheelie through the parking lot as a warm up and then full gas it for dinner time. Wonderful memories.
This is me on my first Proper Bike (i.e. not a faux-BMX with stabilisers), aged…6? 7 maybe? Mid-1990s for sure (just look at them shorts! I'm sad to say I didn't catch the bug back then, but 15-odd years later I bought my first road bike after watching the Tour for the first time, and here we are!
Did 93km today. 1446m climbing. Prepping for a sportive. I loved every minute. Even the ones spent inhaling wasps. Especially those ones, actually.
Great article, Frank.
When my marathoning career came to an end due to sciatica, I needed a way to keep in shape. A bike would keep my legs in shape until I could pound the pavement again, I reasoned. A funny thing happened, though-I never went back to running. The freedom, speed, and cool gear that came with cycling was just too much fun! Not to mention the fact that there was considerably less wear and tear on my body.
That was years ago and the joy of the ride is as high as it was back then. If anything I appreciate the time spent on my trusty steed more than on those first rides.
Postscript: I break fewer rules than I did back then........
What rule violations? C'mon! This little dude is a star. Yeah his glasses are inside his helmet straps, but he's got gloves, a jersey, proper shorts, drop bars... and no computer, ALL V-METER!!!
You go, little guy. Don't let @frank get you down. He's just jealous because you look like Axel Merckx development team material!
@litvi
He also appears to be completely kicking ass.
@litvi
When your race number is nearly as big as you are you get some waivers.
Awesome photo. Unfortunately, that kid's probably in for a rough few years though. Hopefully when he's getting smooched by podium girls in his mid-teens it'll all be worth it.
Any ideas what his name is? I'd like to start putting him in my VSP starts. Playing the long game.
Reminds me of my first bike, must have been 5 or so. No brakes, fixed gear, no freewheel but it had a "remzadel" (braking saddle). Living in the Flatlands meant that brakes are not necessary, except in the Amstel Gold region where I grew up, where there is an abundance of hills. When going down the hill where we lived, I let the pedals go and leaned back, because that is how I thought braking on this saddle worked. After my teeth had perforated my lips and my knees were covered in blood, I came to realise that it wasn't a "remzadel" but a "renzadel" (racing saddle).