There is something incredibly special about learning to ride a bike. That first sense of freedom comes when a child rounds the curve, out of sight from their parents, and ventures out on their own for the first time . I vividly recall my father running along beside my wobbling bike as I struggled to maintain my balance. “Keep pedaling. Don’t stop pedaling,” he huffed through winded lungs, yet he never stopped pushing. Not until I could ride.

It wasn’t long before my friends and I built a feeble ramp and pretended we were Evil Knievel. Skinned knees and elbows came next, even a few tears were shed, but oh the joy of riding a bike.


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