I learned how to ride a bicycle when I was eight, a little bit later than most of the other kids in my neighborhood. I can remember the day vaguely. It was a nice day, maybe in the late spring, and I was in the street outside our house. I'm not certain what the bike looked like. It might have been the one with the purple banana seat. I can't exactly remember the first time I got it to work, but I can remember wobbling and falling and feeling determined. I think I had been at it for a few days. Starting and stopping were the hard parts, and once I got going I felt really happy, and I rode as fast as I could. At least once and maybe more often I lost control of the bike and slid into the three feet deep ditch near the railroad tracks. I remember getting up and riding some more. By end of the day, my elbows were scraped raw, and I had other assorted bruises and scrapes. There were tracks of blood covering my forearms, but I did not care about the pain.

In the years afterwards, I would ride everywhere. One summer, I spent so much time on my bike it felt strange to walk for any distance. There was the trip into the small city nearby with my eldest brother when I almost got hit by a truck. There were steep climbs to the hills above the small village where I grew up, and then breakneck races downhill.

I would ride in the winter and I would ride in the rain. This was back when they had fenders on bicycles. There was a reason for fenders; if it was wet it would prevent the spray from the tires from hitting you. I still can't understand why they got rid of them. We didn't have helmets back then, or gloves or elbow thingies. We had coaster brakes that would apply when you pushed backwards on the pedals. I went without brakes for months and would skid to a stop with my feet.

I was always frightened of dogs. I still am to a certain degree. Country dogs are less used to strangers, and they consider the road in front of their homes part of their territory. There weren't leash laws in those days. I would have jobs in the summer and passing houses with dogs that would chase me was unavoidable. With my heart beating quickly, I would speed up as fast as I could when I passed those houses, and the dogs would come out and chase me. At least when it was raining they were less likely to be outside.

I can remember once I went to a very rare party, and got so drunk I had trouble keeping my feet. I could keep my balance better on my bicycle, and I did not want to sleep on someone's floor, so I rode home.

In the summer after my first year in college, I had a job washing dishes. It did not get out until 2 a.m., and I would bicycle home. I had a light that was powered by a generator hooked to the tire. The dogs were in bed by the time I headed home, and the roads were pretty empty. The few cars that would pass me would swerve wide around. I remember being stopped by a cop once, but with the lights and reflectors it was perfectly legal. On at least one night, I read a book as I rode, the full moon illuminating the pages, the nearby rolling hills, and the fields littered with small, square hay bales.

Last weekend I went bicycle riding with my girlfriend. It was the first time I had ridden in four years. At her insistence I bought a helmet, but the brakes didn't work so I still got to stop with my feet. Driving is pleasant to me now for many of the same reasons that bicycling used to be. Still it was fun riding, breathing hard while I pushed myself up the little rises, speeding up and coasting, and doing those little looping circles while I waited for my girlfriend to catch up. I've still got my bicycle in the back of my car. I haven't decided whether to ride it again today.