The Tricycle
I never learned to ride a bicycle. I do not know why, but I think that since I was their first born, my parents were reluctant to have me ride, in case I hurt myself. It was always the same. There were always strict rules that applied to me but not to my sisters because, I guess, they realized the rules seemed silly after they tried them out on me. My sisters rode, but I did not. I never learned to ride a bike. Many, many years later, Peter came into my life. We were in the habit of taking long walks early each morning. One day he said, “We really should get you a bike. That way we can take bike rides on the weekends.”
I was quiet for a minute. Finally, in a very quiet voice I said, “I do not know how to ride a bike.”
“You do not know how to ride a bike?” he asked incredulously.
I lowered my head in shame. I felt like such a fool. “I do not know how to ride a bike,” I repeated.
Peter lowered the seat of one of his bikes and tried to balance me. I tried. I really tried. I zigzagged drunkenly all over the block. I swerved from side to side all over the paths in the park as I tinkled the bicycle bell wildly, warning anyone in my way, of the danger that might befall them. Once one of my real estate clients saw me and uttered a dramatic, “Oh my God!” I never saw her again. I guess she thought if I could not ride a bike, I was not capable of selling real estate. I don’t know!
Our really old neighbour, Mr. Rose, who sat on his rocking chair on the stoop observing the world go by, shook his head in disbelief as I swerved from one side of the road to the other. For a long time that is all he did. When day he ran out of patience. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you just drove your car, Stella?”
That evening, when Peter came home from the office, I said, “I am not going to practice riding a bike anymore. Even Mr. Rose makes fun of me! At forty something, I guess I am too old to learn!”
As luck would have it, very soon after that, Costco promoted a sale on tandem bikes. Peter came home with one. “Now we can ride,” he said triumphantly.
And ride we did! We rode for miles and miles. We rode through the parks. We discovered that the parks were somehow interconnected. We did bike tours. I loved it all! Peter would sit in front and I would sit behind him on the back seat and pedal away. One day, as we were riding through a park, we came across a very steep decline. Just looking down at it made me feel quite dizzy. “It is too steep! I’m closing my eyes!” I called out to him.
“Open your eyes and keep pedaling,” he roared back.
We began doing the Five Borough Bike Tours. Our normal distances were the one hundred mile bike tours. I loved the tours in New York. One time Peter decided we would only do fifty miles. “If that’s the case, Peter, we will not allow anyone to overtake us.” He agreed. No one did. At the rest stop, I went to the ladies’ room. Before I left, I took off my helmet and gave it to Peter. When I returned, Peter was chortling merrily. I asked him what was so funny. He had overheard a young man in a group of bikers exclaim, “Did you see those two? That woman is older than my mother. I kept trying to get ahead of them, but I could not! My mother would never ride like that!” Peter was pleased as punch and repeating that every chance he got.
Another time, we participated in a tour in another state, I cannot remember which state, perhaps it was in Maryland. The terrain was as flat as a pancake. It was constant pedaling with no coasting. Very soon I became very sore in my sitting area. I guess the padding in my cycling gear was not adequate enough. It was agonizing. Peter had no choice but to let me off and continue alone. All along the way he was teased with comments like, “You lost your stoker, ha! Ha! Ha!” Or, “Hey, are you aware your stoker has flown the coop?” After that, when he cycled in that state, he would either go alone or with Kelly, never with me!
For quite a few years we cycled everywhere. We quite enjoyed it. However, a day came that Peter suffered a massive heart attack. He had to have triple bypass surgery. They told him he survived because he was so active. However, the tandem bicycle is quite a heavy machine. I refused to ride with him any longer for fear of harming him. We went back to only walking and him riding his fancy sport bikes. But I still wished to cycle. I asked Peter if he could put training wheels on a bike for me.
“You are getting stranger by the minute! Where in heaven’s name can I find training wheels for an adult. Besides, even if I found some, which is highly impossible, can you imagine what a ridiculous sight you would be? No, we shall stick to walking.” he comforted me. “You like that too, don’t you?”
I kept thinking about how much fun cycling was. I finally came up with the idea that perhaps I could have a tricycle. If he thought of training wheels was bad, a tricycle made him double up with laughter. “You are not an old lady! Next thing you will want is a little basket in front of your bike as well!”
His saying that painted a new picture for me. I now pictured myself cycling to the bakery for some French bread and to the florist for some flowers, never mind that we had an abundance of flowers in the garden. I imagined having a tiny little pup to take on a ride in the basket. I imagined people stopping me and admiring my little pup and admiring my tricycle. Instead of taking my car to the supermarket, I would gaily ride there and back again in time to make Peter his breakfast on the weekends.
I just would not stop talking about having a tricycle. I was wearing the poor man down. “I have never really asked you for much, have I darling? Am I being unreasonable? Am I? Am I, darling?” I would cajole him. His face began to take on a pained persecuted look. He rued the day he mentioned bicycles to me.
One very pleasant October weekend we went out for breakfast. He was driving and as was our habit, he held my hand in his as he drove. We were contentedly admiring the changing color of the leaves. There was a sense of peace in the car. All was perfect in our world. The weather was perfect. We had just spent time having a lovely breakfast in a quaint and charming eatery. Suddenly Peter said, “Your birthday is coming up. It is only right that you should get the birthday gift you want. Let’s go look at some tricycles now.”
I became excited. I was finally getting the tricycle I wanted. “It has to have a basket, Peter, and a very loud horn,” I said. He nodded in agreement. I again imagined the French bread and the flowers in the basket. Then I imagined the miniature pup I would get. The pup would sit in the basket with a huge grin on his face, enjoying the ride. I imagined myself cycling in a midi skirt and a long scarf wrapped around my neck, cheerfully flying behind me as I cycled in a leisurely manner. As we drove, I squeezed his hand happily. I had the very best husband in the world! I was so fortunate to have him as my husband. If he wasn’t driving, I would have leaned hard into him and given him the biggest of hugs. He smiled as if he had read my thoughts.
The bicycle shop was on a busy street in Brooklyn. It was where he took his bikes to be serviced. We were greeted warmly by the owner who knew Peter well. As Peter explained what I wanted. The shopkeeper’s face concentrated in thought, then he smiled.
“I have just the job for you,” he said. He instructed his helper to bring out a tricycle.
When it was brought up, Peter told me to get on it. I did. I pedaled a bit on the sidewalk.
“No Stella, go on the side street. You cannot cycle on the sidewalk!” he said.
I hesitated. I looked at the traffic flying by on the busy main road. If I cycled to the bakery and the supermarket and all the places I imagined myself going to, I would have to get onto busy streets. I did not trust my capabilities as a bicyclist. I was just Peter’s stoker. I never cycled by myself. I hung my face in shame as I whispered, “Peter, I’m afraid.”
He put his arm around my shoulder. “Sorry to have bothered you,” he told the shopkeeper. “My wife is not quite ready to ride alone just yet.”
As we drove back home, he once more wrapped my hand into his. I looked at his face to see if he was displeased with me. There was a smile lingering about his lips. He knew his wife well. Not even a tricycle could tempt me on busy streets. I was too much of a coward and he would not feel embarrassed by me riding a tricycle. We continued taking our daily walks and if I wanted to run my errands, I used my car. I could hear Mr. Rose asking, “Now isn’t it easier driving your car?” I had to agree that it was easier. By now I was turning fifty. I guess you can’t teach an old dog new tricks! It’s almost impossible.