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My First Bicycle
Date: 2014-07-09 Views: 1027
You may have cars now, but do you still remember the happy and bitter memory about your first bicycle you had?
"But how am I supposed to stay on?" The question seemed truly perplexing as I sat clueless on the bicycle, both feet touching the ground. Bob tried to reassure me. "All you gotta do is keep pedalling and avoid any sharp turns." I was not at all convinced. "Look, only a half-inch of rubber is in contact with the road, and only a fraction of me is directly above that half-inch of rubber. Most of me is hanging out to the left or to the right. All I have to do is lean a bit one way or the other and gravity will yank me off."
It was Bob?s turn to be perplexed. He looked at me, then at the bike, then at me again. "Don?t really know," he finally said. "Maybe gravity isn?t all up and down. Maybe it also works diagonally and keeps you in your seat." I thought this over. "You might be on to something," I replied. "All objects possess gravity. Just as the earth is pulling me towards itself, this bike is also pulling me towards itself. But then, again ... the strength of gravity is proportional to the mass of the object, so the gravity exerted by this bike would be an infinitely small fraction of the earth?s gravity. It certainly wouldn?t be enough to keep me from falling off."
Bob had heard enough. "You won?t fall off and that?s that! People have been riding bikes for ages without falling off. They only fall off if they?re really stupid. Just stop talking and start doing!"
I fell silent. Ahead, the gravel road ran downhill, perhaps for a hundred yards, before crossing the creek and joining the highway. I imagined myself falling onto the gravel. I imagined the tiny stones biting into the flesh of my hands and knees. I imagined them scraping and shredding my skin ...
I looked at Bob and he looked back. What would he think if I backed out now? What would the others think? The question needed no answer. I stared straight ahead and squeezed the handlebar grips. A long moment followed as I balanced from one foot to the other. Then I kicked off with one foot and lunged forward. I was off.
How can I describe the feeling? It was exhilarating, as if I were swimming through the air, with almost nothing below me. And it was so effortless! Like running with none of the exertion, no panting, no sweating, no heart-thumping. It felt unbelievable.
Already I was going as fast as I could run, even faster. The gradient had become steeper and it seemed time to brake my speed. I back-pedalled. The pedals offered no resistance. They spun freely. Evidently, this was not one of those bikes you could halt by pedalling backwards. It was the other kind, the kind with calliper brakes.
I had no idea what a calliper was, or where to look for one . And this was not the best time to start looking. I thought hard, trying not to panic as my bike continued to pick up speed. Then somewhere in the recesses of my mind a piece of advice floated up: What to do if your brakes fail. Yes, yes, what do you do? If your brakes fail, gear down. Shift to a lower gear. You?ll get more power and less speed. My hands fumbled for the gearbox. There was no gearbox. This was the kind of bicycle with only one gear.
I could no longer brake with my feet. Ahead, less than twenty yards away, stood the bridge that marked the foot of the hill, so I resolved to hang on as best I could. Strangely enough, hanging on did not seem so hard. In fact, it seemed easy. There was none of the fearful swaying left and right that had so long deterred me from bike riding. I was sailing ahead, the air breezing past my face, my arms, my legs, the landscape flowing by me like images on a panoramic movie screen.
At last, the bridge came ... bump! bump! bump! bump! bump! ... Each wooden plank seemed to be taking a poke, perhaps out of malice, perhaps out of backslapping approval. Way to go Peter! Attaboy! You can do it!
No sooner on the bridge than I was off. The gravel road fanned out to join the highway. To the right, the gradient ran downhill and over the river; to the left, uphill and over the millrace. I went left, turning as gradually as possible. With a slight bump, my tires crossed on to the ribbon of asphalt.
As I had hoped, the incline was slowing me down and I would soon be able to brake with my feet. I glanced behind, hoping to get into the right-hand lane. No such luck. There was a car and behind it another car. I looked ahead. Something seemed to be coming around the bend. Something big. A Mack truck was heading straight towards me.
"But how am I supposed to stay on?" The question seemed truly perplexing as I sat clueless on the bicycle, both feet touching the ground. Bob tried to reassure me. "All you gotta do is keep pedalling and avoid any sharp turns." I was not at all convinced. "Look, only a half-inch of rubber is in contact with the road, and only a fraction of me is directly above that half-inch of rubber. Most of me is hanging out to the left or to the right. All I have to do is lean a bit one way or the other and gravity will yank me off."
It was Bob?s turn to be perplexed. He looked at me, then at the bike, then at me again. "Don?t really know," he finally said. "Maybe gravity isn?t all up and down. Maybe it also works diagonally and keeps you in your seat." I thought this over. "You might be on to something," I replied. "All objects possess gravity. Just as the earth is pulling me towards itself, this bike is also pulling me towards itself. But then, again ... the strength of gravity is proportional to the mass of the object, so the gravity exerted by this bike would be an infinitely small fraction of the earth?s gravity. It certainly wouldn?t be enough to keep me from falling off."
Bob had heard enough. "You won?t fall off and that?s that! People have been riding bikes for ages without falling off. They only fall off if they?re really stupid. Just stop talking and start doing!"
I fell silent. Ahead, the gravel road ran downhill, perhaps for a hundred yards, before crossing the creek and joining the highway. I imagined myself falling onto the gravel. I imagined the tiny stones biting into the flesh of my hands and knees. I imagined them scraping and shredding my skin ...
I looked at Bob and he looked back. What would he think if I backed out now? What would the others think? The question needed no answer. I stared straight ahead and squeezed the handlebar grips. A long moment followed as I balanced from one foot to the other. Then I kicked off with one foot and lunged forward. I was off.
How can I describe the feeling? It was exhilarating, as if I were swimming through the air, with almost nothing below me. And it was so effortless! Like running with none of the exertion, no panting, no sweating, no heart-thumping. It felt unbelievable.
Already I was going as fast as I could run, even faster. The gradient had become steeper and it seemed time to brake my speed. I back-pedalled. The pedals offered no resistance. They spun freely. Evidently, this was not one of those bikes you could halt by pedalling backwards. It was the other kind, the kind with calliper brakes.
I had no idea what a calliper was, or where to look for one . And this was not the best time to start looking. I thought hard, trying not to panic as my bike continued to pick up speed. Then somewhere in the recesses of my mind a piece of advice floated up: What to do if your brakes fail. Yes, yes, what do you do? If your brakes fail, gear down. Shift to a lower gear. You?ll get more power and less speed. My hands fumbled for the gearbox. There was no gearbox. This was the kind of bicycle with only one gear.
I could no longer brake with my feet. Ahead, less than twenty yards away, stood the bridge that marked the foot of the hill, so I resolved to hang on as best I could. Strangely enough, hanging on did not seem so hard. In fact, it seemed easy. There was none of the fearful swaying left and right that had so long deterred me from bike riding. I was sailing ahead, the air breezing past my face, my arms, my legs, the landscape flowing by me like images on a panoramic movie screen.
At last, the bridge came ... bump! bump! bump! bump! bump! ... Each wooden plank seemed to be taking a poke, perhaps out of malice, perhaps out of backslapping approval. Way to go Peter! Attaboy! You can do it!
No sooner on the bridge than I was off. The gravel road fanned out to join the highway. To the right, the gradient ran downhill and over the river; to the left, uphill and over the millrace. I went left, turning as gradually as possible. With a slight bump, my tires crossed on to the ribbon of asphalt.
As I had hoped, the incline was slowing me down and I would soon be able to brake with my feet. I glanced behind, hoping to get into the right-hand lane. No such luck. There was a car and behind it another car. I looked ahead. Something seemed to be coming around the bend. Something big. A Mack truck was heading straight towards me.
I swerved left. The bike seized up, like a bucking bronco. I tried to compensate but the asphalt had given way to the rutted surface of the shoulder. The bike and I were no longer one. We were two separate bodies moving in separate directions ...
A wave of air passed over me as the truck roared by. I slowly rolled onto my grass-smudged elbows, amid the crushed goldenrods of the grassy embankment. Before me, on the shoulder, lay my bike, its front wheel lazily rotating. I gazed in wonderment. It was indeed wonderful. I had proven that bicycling was possible.
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