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I remember vividly the day I learned how to ride a bike. It was a sunny summer morning, perfect for being outdoors. I had my jump rope over one arm as I bounded down the porch steps and skipped along the sidewalk to the patio. Twirling the rope around my hands to shorten it for my height, I jumped for several minutes and quickly became bored. Then I saw it, my older sister's bike, leaning up against the side of the house. I suddenly had a better idea.

I was envious of my sister for having a bike of her own. Many times I had begged for someone to teach me to ride it, but Mother always said the same thing - it's too big for you. It wasn't new or fancy, just tubular metal with faded paint, a standard girl's bicycle that fit an 11-year-old perfectly. I was five. But I didn't care if Mother thought it was too big. I was going to ride that bike and I was going to ride it today.

It didn't occur to me to ask for any help, I was determined, and failure was not an option. I scoped out the yard, visualized a circular path, and with nothing but my goal in mind I rolled the bike over to the chosen starting point. There was no way I could sit on the seat and reach the pedals, so I hiked my leg into the U of the frame and stood there for a moment, arms stretched up and hands grasping the rubberized grips that were almost above my head. I imagine how I must have looked from a distance, dwarfed by the bike and trying to hold up the weight.

I could have given up the first time I put my foot on the right pedal and fell over. But I didn't. I picked up the bike and tried again. Over and over, different pedal positions, pushing as hard as I could to give momentum to the wheels, balancing for a split second before falling again. Then I found if I leaned the handlebars against the chain link, I could stand there with both feet on the pedals and balance for just a moment if I tipped it away from the fence. I gathered my courage, tipped and pushed the bike forward at the same time, felt myself sway - but I didn't fall. I kept going, my heart in my chest, balancing on the pedals until I had to turn to miss the porch and ended up on the ground again.

Rather than feeling discouraged, I felt elated. I had mastered the balance, now all I had to do was master the turning part. It didn't seem to take many tries, and I was learning to catch myself and hold the bike up instead of actually falling. Avoiding the tree roots and lumpy spots in the lawn was the hardest part, but soon I was able to make

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