kids bicycle without pedals image
And who taught and encouraged you? Where were you? Was it hard?
Answer
I was five-and-a-half years old when I learned to ride without training wheels.
I had gotten the bike with the training wheels on it when I was four-and-a-half, but it took me a year to get comfortable with riding it upright, unlike my tricycle where I was sitting down. I finally told my dad one day that I wanted to try it without the training wheels. He was so happy, he took the training wheels off and took me straight out to the street to help me learn. My mom came out with the camera and everything.
However, the happy moment quickly degenerated into chaos and tears. He had his hand under the seat, as tradition goes, and was pushing me. However, he kept breaking into a run. I kept telling him to slow down, that I wanted to learn slowly, but he insisted that no-one could ride a 2-wheeled bike slowly without falling over. The pedals were going so fast that I kept getting my feet tangled up in them. I told him that he was wrong, because I had seen the older kids on bikes going slowly, but he kept running and pushing me fast, telling me it was the only way to learn. Also, the bike seat was still low enough that he had to bend over to reach it, and he was not able to stay bent over and running consistently, so he kept jerking me off-center unexpectedly when he was losing his own balance. I fell off the side of the bike twice, getting bumps and bruises, and then he would tell me that I needed to pay more attention to my balance. Quickly, in tears, I yelled at him that if he wasn't actually going to be helpful then I had had enough and told him to put the training wheels back on.
He was surprised when I ran inside crying, but he called after me that he would leave the training wheels off until the next evening, when he would be home to help me learn again. The next morning, after asking my Mom to make sure that he wasn't coming home for lunch, I got the bike (still without training wheels) out of the garage and hit the street all by myself. I started out by just pushing myself with both feet for short distances slowly, worked up to being able to glide without my feet touching the ground for slightly longer distances, then by afternoon was able to glide and get my feet up and on the pedals for slightly longer distances. I was quite relieved that I actually learned to pedal slowly just before Dad got home that evening, because it meant that I didn't need another lesson with him running and pushing and my feet getting tangled up and such. And I didn't fall off sideways once the whole day.
When he opened the car door after work that evening, I proudly informed him that I didn't need his help, I had taught myself to ride a bike, that he was totally wrong about not being able to go slowly on a 2-wheeled bike, and that there was nothing wrong with my balance because I never fell over when I wasn't being jerked off-balance by someone holding the seat. Yeah, I was a snarky little kid that ruined his happy experience of teaching his kid to ride a bike. Oh well. (My younger brother never was willing to learn, and I think my younger sister learned from my Mom when my Dad was out of town one week, so he never did get that memory.)
Something very similar happened when he tried to teach me to drive stick-shift eleven years later. Oh well. There are just somethings that my Dad shouldn't teach; I'm happy for all the rest that were things he taught very well.
I was five-and-a-half years old when I learned to ride without training wheels.
I had gotten the bike with the training wheels on it when I was four-and-a-half, but it took me a year to get comfortable with riding it upright, unlike my tricycle where I was sitting down. I finally told my dad one day that I wanted to try it without the training wheels. He was so happy, he took the training wheels off and took me straight out to the street to help me learn. My mom came out with the camera and everything.
However, the happy moment quickly degenerated into chaos and tears. He had his hand under the seat, as tradition goes, and was pushing me. However, he kept breaking into a run. I kept telling him to slow down, that I wanted to learn slowly, but he insisted that no-one could ride a 2-wheeled bike slowly without falling over. The pedals were going so fast that I kept getting my feet tangled up in them. I told him that he was wrong, because I had seen the older kids on bikes going slowly, but he kept running and pushing me fast, telling me it was the only way to learn. Also, the bike seat was still low enough that he had to bend over to reach it, and he was not able to stay bent over and running consistently, so he kept jerking me off-center unexpectedly when he was losing his own balance. I fell off the side of the bike twice, getting bumps and bruises, and then he would tell me that I needed to pay more attention to my balance. Quickly, in tears, I yelled at him that if he wasn't actually going to be helpful then I had had enough and told him to put the training wheels back on.
He was surprised when I ran inside crying, but he called after me that he would leave the training wheels off until the next evening, when he would be home to help me learn again. The next morning, after asking my Mom to make sure that he wasn't coming home for lunch, I got the bike (still without training wheels) out of the garage and hit the street all by myself. I started out by just pushing myself with both feet for short distances slowly, worked up to being able to glide without my feet touching the ground for slightly longer distances, then by afternoon was able to glide and get my feet up and on the pedals for slightly longer distances. I was quite relieved that I actually learned to pedal slowly just before Dad got home that evening, because it meant that I didn't need another lesson with him running and pushing and my feet getting tangled up and such. And I didn't fall off sideways once the whole day.
When he opened the car door after work that evening, I proudly informed him that I didn't need his help, I had taught myself to ride a bike, that he was totally wrong about not being able to go slowly on a 2-wheeled bike, and that there was nothing wrong with my balance because I never fell over when I wasn't being jerked off-balance by someone holding the seat. Yeah, I was a snarky little kid that ruined his happy experience of teaching his kid to ride a bike. Oh well. (My younger brother never was willing to learn, and I think my younger sister learned from my Mom when my Dad was out of town one week, so he never did get that memory.)
Something very similar happened when he tried to teach me to drive stick-shift eleven years later. Oh well. There are just somethings that my Dad shouldn't teach; I'm happy for all the rest that were things he taught very well.
How old were you when you learned to ride a 2-wheel bicycle (without the side wheels)?
Sachie
And who taught and encouraged you? Where were you? Was it hard?
Answer
I was five-and-a-half years old when I learned to ride without training wheels.
I had gotten the bike with the training wheels on it when I was four-and-a-half, but it took me a year to get comfortable with riding it upright, unlike my tricycle where I was sitting down. I finally told my dad one day that I wanted to try it without the training wheels. He was so happy, he took the training wheels off and took me straight out to the street to help me learn. My mom came out with the camera and everything.
However, the happy moment quickly degenerated into chaos and tears. He had his hand under the seat, as tradition goes, and was pushing me. However, he kept breaking into a run. I kept telling him to slow down, that I wanted to learn slowly, but he insisted that no-one could ride a 2-wheeled bike slowly without falling over. The pedals were going so fast that I kept getting my feet tangled up in them. I told him that he was wrong, because I had seen the older kids on bikes going slowly, but he kept running and pushing me fast, telling me it was the only way to learn. Also, the bike seat was still low enough that he had to bend over to reach it, and he was not able to stay bent over and running consistently, so he kept jerking me off-center unexpectedly when he was losing his own balance. I fell off the side of the bike twice, getting bumps and bruises, and then he would tell me that I needed to pay more attention to my balance. Quickly, in tears, I yelled at him that if he wasn't actually going to be helpful then I had had enough and told him to put the training wheels back on.
He was surprised when I ran inside crying, but he called after me that he would leave the training wheels off until the next evening, when he would be home to help me learn again. The next morning, after asking my Mom to make sure that he wasn't coming home for lunch, I got the bike (still without training wheels) out of the garage and hit the street all by myself. I started out by just pushing myself with both feet for short distances slowly, worked up to being able to glide without my feet touching the ground for slightly longer distances, then by afternoon was able to glide and get my feet up and on the pedals for slightly longer distances. I was quite relieved that I actually learned to pedal slowly just before Dad got home that evening, because it meant that I didn't need another lesson with him running and pushing and my feet getting tangled up and such. And I didn't fall off sideways once the whole day.
When he opened the car door after work that evening, I proudly informed him that I didn't need his help, I had taught myself to ride a bike, that he was totally wrong about not being able to go slowly on a 2-wheeled bike, and that there was nothing wrong with my balance because I never fell over when I wasn't being jerked off-balance by someone holding the seat. Yeah, I was a snarky little kid that ruined his happy experience of teaching his kid to ride a bike. Oh well. (My younger brother never was willing to learn, and I think my younger sister learned from my Mom when my Dad was out of town one week, so he never did get that memory.)
Something very similar happened when he tried to teach me to drive stick-shift eleven years later. Oh well. There are just somethings that my Dad shouldn't teach; I'm happy for all the rest that were things he taught very well.
I was five-and-a-half years old when I learned to ride without training wheels.
I had gotten the bike with the training wheels on it when I was four-and-a-half, but it took me a year to get comfortable with riding it upright, unlike my tricycle where I was sitting down. I finally told my dad one day that I wanted to try it without the training wheels. He was so happy, he took the training wheels off and took me straight out to the street to help me learn. My mom came out with the camera and everything.
However, the happy moment quickly degenerated into chaos and tears. He had his hand under the seat, as tradition goes, and was pushing me. However, he kept breaking into a run. I kept telling him to slow down, that I wanted to learn slowly, but he insisted that no-one could ride a 2-wheeled bike slowly without falling over. The pedals were going so fast that I kept getting my feet tangled up in them. I told him that he was wrong, because I had seen the older kids on bikes going slowly, but he kept running and pushing me fast, telling me it was the only way to learn. Also, the bike seat was still low enough that he had to bend over to reach it, and he was not able to stay bent over and running consistently, so he kept jerking me off-center unexpectedly when he was losing his own balance. I fell off the side of the bike twice, getting bumps and bruises, and then he would tell me that I needed to pay more attention to my balance. Quickly, in tears, I yelled at him that if he wasn't actually going to be helpful then I had had enough and told him to put the training wheels back on.
He was surprised when I ran inside crying, but he called after me that he would leave the training wheels off until the next evening, when he would be home to help me learn again. The next morning, after asking my Mom to make sure that he wasn't coming home for lunch, I got the bike (still without training wheels) out of the garage and hit the street all by myself. I started out by just pushing myself with both feet for short distances slowly, worked up to being able to glide without my feet touching the ground for slightly longer distances, then by afternoon was able to glide and get my feet up and on the pedals for slightly longer distances. I was quite relieved that I actually learned to pedal slowly just before Dad got home that evening, because it meant that I didn't need another lesson with him running and pushing and my feet getting tangled up and such. And I didn't fall off sideways once the whole day.
When he opened the car door after work that evening, I proudly informed him that I didn't need his help, I had taught myself to ride a bike, that he was totally wrong about not being able to go slowly on a 2-wheeled bike, and that there was nothing wrong with my balance because I never fell over when I wasn't being jerked off-balance by someone holding the seat. Yeah, I was a snarky little kid that ruined his happy experience of teaching his kid to ride a bike. Oh well. (My younger brother never was willing to learn, and I think my younger sister learned from my Mom when my Dad was out of town one week, so he never did get that memory.)
Something very similar happened when he tried to teach me to drive stick-shift eleven years later. Oh well. There are just somethings that my Dad shouldn't teach; I'm happy for all the rest that were things he taught very well.
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Title Post: How old were you when you learned to ride a 2-wheel bicycle (without the side wheels)?
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