Uneasy rider

My big brother, Sam, was 6 ½ years older than I was. That is a huge gap when you are a kid, like not even on the same planet even when you grow up in the same house. We never went to the same school at the same time. We never shared friends. 

But it wasn’t always about age, it was also gender expectations. Sam was the boy, I was the girl. He was supposed to have adventures and push limits. I was supposed to stay safe, be quiet, be thankful, and obey. When we moved to Topanga, he already had a very sturdy bicycle and was well practiced in the freedom it gave him moving around our suburban neighborhood. I don’t think he even thought about the difference in canyon roads. 

Soon after we moved in, he jumped on his bike one day and headed down the hill. I can only imagine his thrill, coasting down the steepest part in front of our house. The first slight curve was where the slope began to level some, though only some. As a newly minted eleven year old, he did not have the capacity to really anticipate the next part. 

Imagine the distance of a long city block. The street took a sharp turn to the left or the right. The coaster brakes were unable to slow him enough to make the turn. He flew, full speed, off the side of the steep hill. 

He came home limping, pushing his bike back home. Scratched and battered by the branches of the brush that caught him, he was not exactly able to appreciate how much worse it could have been. 

He parked his bike that day. Months later it went to live in my grandma’s garage. When he spent a week or so there at times, he would get it out, pump up the tires, and enjoy the freedom of her flat, desert neighborhood. 

Kids in the canyon walked. We all walked a lot. It was a mile up and down the mountain for my brother and I to catch a school bus. We were lucky that we had a few friends who lived closer. There were trails that cut distances in some places. But between steeper trails, bushes, rocky creek beds, and seasonal mud, they were often not much better. Activities like skating were also limited.

A few friends had horses. There is an age range where many little girls have a passion for horses. I remember a year when all the girls spent recess galloping up and down the playground playing horse. But in real life, horses seemed unpredictable and scary to me. 

I probably walked two or three miles every school day. There was the walk to the bus, the long walk up a hill to the cafeteria, going to a friend's house after school, which extended the long walk home. But then on weekends or in the summer, I would often take even longer walks just for fun. And all of it was up and down the steep hillsides. 

I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was nearly 14 and we had to move out of the canyon. Learning to ride a bike is considered such a normal childhood rite of passage. I remember being mocked for my awkward first attempts. I already had attained my full adult height. Falling on hard paved ground in front of a bunch of younger kids laughter was a cruel teacher.

My first bike was borrowed. My second was pieced together out of junk parts. I never hadi bold confidence on a bike, but I learned to love the feeling of flying freedom. 

We had so many kinds of freedom kids don’t have now. We had hours outdoors, exploring the world on our own. When we used wheels, we didn’t have helmets and padding. We also all had friends who suffered serious consequences. It was our normal. Don’t ask me if it was better or worse. I survived. 

Hopefully my grandkids will survive, too. Between scary traffic and extreme heat much of the year, their experience on bikes has also been limited. Most of their wild adventures happen in fantasy worlds on tiny screens. They have quick minds and reflexes, but I wonder how their balance would be on the rocks in a creek bed. And if their hand could dart out and snatch a lizard, would they know what to do with it.