On June 1, 2013—just ten days before my second child was due—I finally faced my longstanding fear of bikes. After three decades filled with scrapes and embarrassment, I learned to ride a bicycle.
Growing up in suburban New Jersey during the 1980s, I missed out on the traditional childhood moment of shedding training wheels and wobbling off while my parents cheered. Instead, I simply fell—frequently. My peers seemingly glided through the learning phase, riding effortlessly to school, while I struggled to maintain balance. The repeated failures led to frustration, and I ultimately abandoned the bike, leaving it to gather dust in my overgrown backyard.
I came to terms with the idea that biking wasn’t in my future. Whenever I noticed a group of bikes at a neighbor’s house, I avoided the scene, knowing I couldn’t keep up with my friends. This acceptance became part of my new normal.
After obtaining my driver’s license in 1995, I felt a sense of relief; kids were biking less, and I could easily hide my lack of cycling skills. This trend continued through college and into adulthood, where walking or driving became my preferred modes of transportation.
After graduation, I revealed my secret to my wife, Jessica. Understanding my plight, she was firm: it was time to learn. In my late twenties, I attempted to conquer this childhood embarrassment, but it ended poorly. Once again, I found myself tumbling to the ground.
My attempts to teach myself on Jessica’s bike failed, prompting me to reach out to a friend who was an experienced cyclist. I thought his expertise would help me finally succeed. However, after hours of stumbling through Philadelphia’s quiet streets, I returned home, still unable to master what most children could do with ease. This failure lingered in my mind, causing me to shy away from trying again for several years.
Then, Jessica sent me information about an adult biking class offered by a local cycling organization. I felt this could be my chance; I’d be surrounded by others who also faced similar challenges. But, despite my hopes, I found myself once again grappling with the same frustrations.
After more arguments with Jessica, she suggested that I buy my own bike and practice independently. Reluctantly, I visited a local shop and shared my dilemma with the owner, who awkwardly made a metaphor that left me perplexed but ultimately walked away with a new bike.
Eventually, my perspective shifted when my son, Liam, was born in 2009. The desire to teach him how to ride sparked a motivation in me that I hadn’t experienced before. With my daughter’s arrival approaching, I finally mustered the courage to enroll in that adult biking class.
Motivation can be a powerful force. This time, with thoughts of my children encouraging me, I found myself wobbling around the corner as the instructors cheered me on. At 35 years old, I finally managed to stay upright.
Today, I wouldn’t call myself an expert cyclist. I still feel anxious when cars pass too closely, or when I find myself stuck behind tourists on Segways. However, I can ride. This summer, I took the training wheels off Liam’s bicycle, which was an emotional milestone. While he hasn’t yet learned to ride independently, I am confident that when he takes a tumble, he will get back up with my support.
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Summary
At 35, I overcame my lifelong fear of biking, spurred by the desire to teach my children. Despite numerous attempts and failures, I eventually succeeded with the support of an adult biking class and the motivation of fatherhood. Today, I can finally ride and look forward to sharing this experience with my kids.