No Hands!

      “You’ll be glad to know I haven’t fallen down again, yet.” I said to Cyndi, while peeling off my sweaty cycling kit.

      “Why did you say, yet?” Cyndi asked.

       “I’ve been trying to ride my bike without hands on the handlebars ... and so far I haven’t fallen.”

      “I thought you could do that already. You’re always telling that story from Kermit …”

      “The key word you just used is could. It’s been a long time since I was a proficient no-hands rider.”

      “So how long has it been since you were good at it?” Cyndi asked.

      “Well, I was living in Kermit.”

      “In elementary school?”

      “I was about fifth grade at the peak of my abilities.”

      “I thought once a person learned to ride a bike they always remembered.”

      “That’s only true for the legs part. The hands-off-the-handlebars skillset is the first to go.”

      “So you’re an old dog trying to learn a new trick?” asked Cyndi.

      “Exactly! And according to author Karen Rinaldi, new tricks are the sorts of things old dogs like me should be doing.”

      Before Cyndi could think of an objection I launched into my story.    “Those afternoons racing down Bellaire Street after school let out are the reason I still love to ride. We’d take our hands off the handlebars as soon as we turned south and ride like that all the way home, about two miles.”

      “Didn’t you have to cross a big highway?” she asked, knowing the story well.

      “State Highway 302. When the crossing guard saw us coming, he’d go out into the middle of the highway to stop traffic so we could cross without having to get off our bikes.”

      “What a cool crossing guard.”

      “We flew across the highway with arms in the air while the crossing guard laughed and clapped, and the adult drivers had to wait for us.”

            “Why is it hard for you to learn again?”

      "I’ve decided to blame it on bike geometry. The front fork of my road bike is more vertical than my old 1960s Roadmaster, making it more responsive but less stable.”

      “Is it the shape of the bicycle that’s changed so much, or shape of the rider?”

      “Bummer; I was hoping that wouldn’t come up.”

      I said, “I’m bigger and longer and heavier than I was at ten-years-old. My cycling center of gravity has moved up about eighteen inches, and grown more than a hundred pounds. Now I’m like an upside down punching bag, ready to fall over at the slightest encouragement.”

      “Now you’re trying to relive your childhood, but why pick something dangerous like no hands?”

      “My answer-of-record is: I want to be a better bike handler. But the better answer is I was inspired watching the pros on TV ride without hands, eating from their food bags, and raising both arms when crossing the finish line after winning the race.”

      “Do you expect to raise your arms when you win a race? Is that a possibility?

      “I want to be ready. What if a thunderstorm hit during a race and all the young flatbellies crash out and I end up crossing the finish line first?”

      “I think you should keep your hands on the handlebars on wet roads.”

      “I would be heartbroken to know I could’ve practiced more, but didn’t, and now I’m stuck crossing the line with hands and head down. What kind of photo would that make? Would you put a depressing picture like that on the wall of our living room?”

      “I’ll answer that question when you bring home the photo.”

      And then she asked, “Where have you been doing your practice rides?”

      “I stick to no-traffic streets, like those around Fasken Elementary.”

      “Good,” she said, as she pulled down the big plastic tubs where we keep our first aid supplies. “There’ll be no one to see you crash.”

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32