When I was 5 years old, my father and I walked my bike down the street to a park where the road was smooth and flat. Crowned in my American flag-decorated helmet, I looked out for approaching cars, while my father removed the small rubber training wheels. I climbed on the bike and pedaled fearlessly while my father held the handlebars as he trotted along. We picked up speed, and he let go. I wobbled for a few yards before hitting the curb and tumbling onto the park’s grass. I surfaced, pleased with my progress, but determined to go even farther.
As I grew, my bikes grew with me. Every few years, my family ventured to Performance Bike Shop, and I emerged ecstatic with a new bike to ride. I learned how to use handle brakes on the Blue Giant and first changed gears on a red bike called Frantic.
My father constantly pushed the edges of our biking territory. Not long after training wheels, we headed for the trails of Rock Creek Park. On the way, we had to cross a major intersection. More than once my father had to stubbornly stop traffic so I could walk my bike across.
In the park, we sped around trees and terrified pedestrians. With my father’s attentive presence close behind, I led the race and memorized each turn. I named the ride’s surreal landmarks; “Bamboo corner” was half way to “frog turn-around,” which was a playground featuring a giant plastic frog. The trips became longer and I grew comfortable with maneuvering my bike. The trail became too familiar and I wanted a challenge. I went off-road through the trees; hundreds of such trips burned the grass beneath my wheels. A 2-inch wide trail of hardened dirt soon crisscrossed the path I followed.
Every weekend I demanded that my father ride with me, regardless of the weather. I could escape the heat of a July afternoon with the cool wind of a ride, and the freezing December rain on the road made each turn exhilarating.
As I pushed myself to go faster and longer, my father eventually could not maintain the pace. He then followed me in his car. We agreed on three places to meet: before the major intersection, after the tunnel, and at the 7-Eleven to enjoy lunch. My father explored the local neighborhoods, searching for the steepest hills for me to conquer. Frequently, he pulled his car alongside me and shouted biking advice such as “keep your toes on the pedal” or “head up.”
Biking allows me to escape life’s daily stresses. I simply clear my mind of any worries and focus on the path ahead. I believe everyone needs an activity to cleanse the crowded mind. This activity provides the sense of personal freedom and escape that is crucial for a balanced life. Under his watchful vision, my father showed me how to obtain this freedom by creating my own daily adventures.
