Riding a Bike

I had a shiny new bike. It was red and brand NEW. My brother and sister had bikes too. Their’s were bigger than mine. They had streamers on the handlebars. My brother who is six years older than I am also had playing cards clipped to his spokes on the front and back tires. They made loud sounds, as he would speed past us on the road.

I had a shiny new bike, but all I had ever ridden was my little three-wheeler. I couldn’t keep up with my sister and brother. BUT, now I have a shiny new bike that will help me ride with my sister and brother.

I slowly put my leg across the center of the bike. Each leg could touch the ground. My Dad held onto the back of the seat. “Get on the seat and then put your feet on the pedals and pump as hard as you can.”

I did exactly as he said. I pushed myself up onto the seat and I started to push one pedal down one up then that pedal down and the other up. I felt my dad’s hand helping me along.

“Keep going!” my brother shouted.

“You got it,” called out my sister.

It was just then that I realized my dad was way behind me and I was riding all by myself. My hair lifted as I went faster.

“How far should I go?” I shouted back

“Go to the end of the paved road and turn around and come back.”

Shear fear struck me. “I don’t know how to turn!”

“Just turn the handle bars,” my brother shouted.

I did as I was told. The bike started to lean and soon I was sprawled on the pavement and I could hear screaming. It was me I was screaming while blood ran onto the ground. It was coming from both knees.

Those scabs lasted for months.