i didn't learn to ride a bike until i was nine. yes, 4th grade, 3x3, nearly double-digits, nine-years-old. that's why it's so ironic that my 30th birthday present was a bicycle.
i remember the lesson like it happened yesterday. my dad spent the better part of a weekend running up and down our cul-de-sac holding onto the back of my bike seat. every time he tried to let go, i tipped. sometimes, i'd balance for a split second longer than the last but the spill was inevitable. clearly, i got it at some point, but (and here comes another admission), i've never been a strong bike rider.
still, i love, like seriously love, the pastime so it's only fitting that my husband surprised me with a perfectly purple beach cruiser. we took a cruise around the block tonight and at one point, i couldn't help but observe the irony.
my memories on a bicycle all take place with the two men in my life. one guarded my back to insure i didn't fall and the other leads the way to make sure i don't mistakenly stray into danger. how's that for luck?
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