Marlys’ New Bike: The most Dangerous Thing on Two Wheels

First let’s start by saying Marlys hasn’t ridden a bike in over 30 years. What? Noooo. How can that possibly be…? Let me tell you it’s true. I was probably 13 years old (so almost 33 years ago) the seat was of the banana variety and you reversed your right leg in order to brake.

Melbourne is a great city for bike-riders – very flat (except in the downtown area) and lots of parks and dedicated bike paths including one along the ocean right out our front door. Beautiful bikes gliding along a scenic path. I wanted to be one of those people. I wanted a bike.

So I bought a bike. We have a local bike shop just a couple blocks away – great brands (said Matt) with knowledgeable sales staff (said the sign). I was excited! I had just started browsing – blue bikes, green bikes, black bikes, and red bikes. This was early in the day when I thought color would be my only worry. I soon discovered bikes have changed. I told my sales guy I didn't need something as "fancy” as a ten speed....Matt and the guy exchanged glances. “Honey, they don’t make 10 speeds anymore”, Matt said gently. Oh. “Well, what’s the lowest amount of speeds?”, I asked. I just wanted the most basic of bikes. I ended up with a 21 speed - which I understand is indeed about the lowest possible. I would also like to state for the record that I was tricked. My sales guy said it was a three speed (but had 7 possible gears for each). 3x7 = 21. I hate math.

After we bought the bike, a bike helmet (I managed to refrain from buying one with flames painted on the side), and a bike lock, my sales guy referred me to Rocky. “Rocky teaches everyone to ride.” he claimed. Rocky was a tall, fit, good looking Italian (Greek?) with a black mustache. He shook my hand with both hands. You know what I mean? You shake with one hand and then cover the hand with another? I love that. I was ready to put my life in Rocky’s hands. He made me feel safe and said with complete confidence that he would have me ‘up and biking’ in 5 minutes. I thought to myself, I love Rocky.

We walked the bike to the side of the building. Rocky demonstrated how to ‘walk’ the bike, simultaneously holding onto the left handle and the seat. This will give you control of the bike, he said. He was right! What a master! How easy to move the bike around!

Rocky takes his job seriously. He said, “First, I will teach you how to get on the bike.” I smiled thinking, it’s been awhile since I rode – a long while – but I’m pretty confident I can figure out how to get on the dang thing. I giggled at his thoroughness, “I need a lesson about how to get on?” Rocky replied, “Yes, because you haven’t ridden in years and now you are old & you need to protect your back.” I hate Rocky.

Rocky demonstrated how you grip the handbrakes, tilt the bike toward you, step your right foot over to the other side, and then tilt the bike upright. I had to admit this was a pretty slick move.

“Now sit,” commanded Rocky. Matt had picked out a ‘nice comfortable seat’. What I wasn’t ready for was the shock absorbers my bike has. Gooosh. The bike sank a couple inches.


“Push forward on the foot pedal!” said Rocky giving me a little shove, “And…you’re ready to ride!” Errrrrrrrrttttt!!! I fell forward and looked at Rocky accusingly. “Sorry! Release the hand brakes!!! And……you’re ready to ride!!!” And indeed, unfettered by the brake, I was riding.

I. Was. Riding.
Me! On a bike!

Uh-oh. Too fast! I put my feet out in an instinctive Fred Flintstone move. Rocky came running. “Good!” he commented, “but this time try to incorporate using the handbrake to come to a stop.” Wisely he showed me which brake was for the front and back wheels.

I tried again. And again. I felt like I was getting the hang of this bike!

Rocky came up to me, “ Very good. Now, tell me, do you have any artificial limbs? Or corrective devices?” Apparently I was riding with my knees wide apart which resulted in a wobble so alarming he determined it must be due to a prosthetic leg. I assured him that no, these are indeed, for better or worse, my own legs, knees, and feet.

The coaching was constant. Keep your head up! Your knees together! Even more together! Shoulders down! Don’t forget to use the hand brake! Smile! he instructed. Again. And again. Finally Rocky was confident enough to pronounce me ready to go. I love Rocky.

My first few rides were torture. Who knew how hazardous biking was? Those gorgeous bike lanes I yearned to ride where fraught with risk. There’s a ball rolling toward me, a dog that’s not on a leash, a small child! Danger! There’s another bike coming RIGHT AT ME! So much to concentrate on…sitting upright, keeping my knees together… everything Rocky taught me echoing in my ears until Matt, looking over his shoulder from 20 yards down the road starts yelling, “Are you coming?!”

In spite of having to endure the embarrassment of having 5 and 6 year olds wait until I was done with my riding lesson and the enormous danger (OK, potential danger) of riding, I am enjoying the bike. The sun shining on my face and the feeling of the wind in my hair as my hands grip the handles so tightly I get muscle strain in my wrists and arms. That’s what it’s like after 30 years.

One last thing. If one more person comments on how easy it is to get back in the saddle, or says "it's like riding a bike..." I will have to hurt them.