I got my first bike when I was 12, and promptly fell off it going down our gravel driveway too fast. I limped home with a bloodied knee, but this accident did not deter me. Once my tears had dried, I got back on the bike.
The bike was blue, gearless, and it spelled freedom. I lived on a farm 5 miles out of town, but with the bike, I suddenly had mobility. Once I’d mastered the art of riding downhill, I explored the farm by bike. I rode to visit my cousins in one direction, my auntie and uncle in another, and the river where we used to swim, in yet another. Continue reading