Bike riding

Having grown up in the great borough of Brooklyn, I rode my bike everywhere. Unless I was walking or taking the subway. I was in a lot of bike accidents. None that involved cars. Many involved stairs or water. You got a bike, a better bike, not a car, upon high school graduation. Mine was a Schwinn Suburban in a sort of electric blue. But it wasn’t exactly a Suburban. The guy at the bike store made some changes to the bike that made it suitable for my type of riding, which required a helmet. Who knew from helmets back then? I don’t think anyone even manufactured them except for the Tour de France. My wish for Isabella is that she would get on her beautiful bike that her grandfather bought her for her thirteenth birthday. I purchased a new bike for myself, too. Having owned a stingray prior to the Scwhinn and a mountain bike after, I went for a crusiser with a wicker basket. I have taken Isabella down to the waterfront to ride. No cars, no people, no dogs. She refused to get on the bike, walking it around. What kind of bribes can I offer for her to become a bike rider?

Swimming, really

Another new development. Somewhat astounding for our 13-year-old. Perhaps, not so for other 13-year-olds, unless the child has an anxiety disorder. Swimming. I mean running into the surf in the Atlantic Ocean and loving it! Really loving it. What this means is that the sensory defensiveness is gone. It’s not about being afraid once and now being brave. It’s about clinically not being able to tolerate something. Bike riding is not about balancing. It’s about staying on the bicycle long enough to say that you’re riding a bike. It’s about enjoying the waves crashing on  your body. And how about jumping off the lifeguard stand? Could it be the new drink that I make Isabella every morning — that she drinks (mostly) without complaining and sometimes requests? Working at the celluar level, again.