Childhood Bicycling Redux

I was barely five when I insisted my father take off the training wheels on my fat-tired bicycle. How else could I keep up with Anne and Janet, Dennis and Willie in the neighborhood? I was no longer attached to wobbly wheels, no longer left behind, no longer the kid sister. I was powerful, I could fly, I was on my own.

On Friday, I rode my brand-new Swiss-flag red-colored urban bicycle around Town Lake Trail and the new Boardwalk floating above the lake and bushes. I rode past palm trees, ducked under branches too heavy with the recent downpour, waved to kids fishing (catch and release). I was five years old again, free, not clipped into my twenty-eight speed, light-weight rode bike, but just meandering, enjoying the scenery, the humidity, the slight modulations of the trail, dodging rain puddles.

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