The wheels rolled forward, propelled by the slanted sidewalk running over old tree roots. Equipped with silver Hello Kitty ballet flats, I spent my first moments as a cyclist.
“Look around the turn! Look up at me,” Coach David yells from the grass. My gaze is locked on Coach Kate, a few meters ahead. I hit a patch of loose wood chips as I fly into the turn, attempting to keep up.
The whir of my rear wheel as my new raspberry-colored bike slid down the hill alarms the resident red-tailed hawks. Scrambling to grab my bike, I hear concerned calls from my teammates, interspersed with the upset birds’ cries.
As I catch my bike, a burning sensation on my forearm grabs my attention. Dragging the evidence off of the course, I try to collect myself, but the trials of the past week come pounding into my head.
It has been a week of bad news and unwelcome surprises. I can still see the email from Dianne. My forum leader, my safety net, has been pulled from under me. Something else comes back to me too—a glimmer of the foliage-filtered light from the first time I rode a bike without training wheels.
I had watched my father disassemble the white rubber training wheels. They would strike the ground with any lateral motion, like a reminder to stay upright. I was nervous but motivated by the prospect of reaching new speeds. I cranked the velcro straps of my shoes tight and prepared for battle.
“Sometimes, you have to go slow to go fast,” Coach David says. He clarifies the objective before we attempt an off-camber turn or another cyclocross obstacle. Make it through. Don’t rush.
Unburdened by time, I slowly gained my balance on a two-wheeled bike. Gravity assisted my wheels off the maple roots, and I rolled forward. Then came the pedaling—a balancing act between forward thrust and maintaining a steady center of gravity. Grinning, I made it to the next driveway. I was grateful to the training wheels for keeping me safe but ready for new adventures.
I walk my bike to the nearest piece of even ground. The parched park dirt is in need of a thorough rainstorm. I pedal and breathe through the waves of emotion about Dianne’s departure.
Focusing on making it through the lap, I shift into a harder gear. Kate is long gone, and I have ground to make up before another rider could come into view. Over the barriers, around the last couple of turns, and into the finish, where I finally pull over to rest.
Exhausted and ready for a Band-Aid, I sit in the grass. The sun, still peeking over the horizon, lights the faces of my newfound community. Perhaps the school year will be okay, even without Dianne.
