My story of bikes, embarrassment, and fear

Let me just start by saying this: I’ve never been good at riding a bike. Or anything that involves taking my feet off the ground for that matter. Not that I haven’t tried, but I guess the whole idea of letting go and enjoying the ride didn’t ever translate to me (which is a deeper conversation for another day, but I digress.)

So, with the exception of riding my bike in my driveway during elementary school, I just didn’t do it.

Then came one fateful day in college, where I woke up with only 5 minutes to get to a class half a mile away from my dorm. I happened to have a test that day, and the professor was the kind who would lock the door if you were late and give you a zero for what you missed. Which is the absolute best threat to terrify an overachieving freshman.

Therefore, I did what any crazy girl would do. I frantically ran out of the building, spotted a guy on a bike, and asked if I could borrow it. And by asking him I mean I chased him down screaming “I need a bike! Can I have your bike?!! Please please please!!”

He stopped. Turned around. Looked at me like I had three heads. And then handed the bike over without asking a single question.

I then proceeded to get on that bike, take about three tries to get it going, pedal a wobbly ten feet…and manage to get my backpack strap stuck in the back tire.

Which is when I quickly gave up, stumbled off the bike, threw it over, grabbed my backpack strap out of the tire like a possessed cave woman and starting sprinting away shouting some crazy apologies and thank yous to the bewildered owner of the bike. (And if you’re wondering: yes, I did manage to make it to class on time – in a really smelly breathless mess kind of way – and thankfully I never saw bike guy again.)

Needless to say, that moment of intense mortification kept me from getting back onto a bike.

That is, until another fateful day ten years later.

It was the first day of our beach vacation, and everyone in the house had rented a bike for the week. Except me of course. But when the delivery man stopped by, Carl was napping with our girls and the rest of my family was no where to be found.

So when the truck pulling a trailer of bikes pulled up, I walked outside to be greeted by a tattooed man in his fifties with a tan that made me jealous and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He gave me a big smile, we exchanged some casual conversation while I signed the rental papers, and then he said “why don’t I adjust the seat of your bike for you so you can show everyone else how to do theirs?”

To which I of course reply, laughingly, “oh no, none of these are for me. I don’t ride bikes.”

Leading to the following conversation:

Bike man: “Why not?”

Me: “I just don’t really like riding them. And I was never really good at it.”

Bike man: “That’s crazy. I think you should get on one.”

Me: “No no. It’s been ten years since I’ve ridden one and I’m pretty sure it’s not going to go well.”

Bike man: “Well, you won’t know until you try.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m scared I’ll make a total fool of myself. So it’s okay. They can figure out the seats later.”

(Relentless) Bike man: “God doesn’t give us a spirit of fear. So if that’s what’s holding you back, then you should get on the bike.”

Turns out I didn’t have anything to actually say to that. And I was beginning to think bike man was my guardian angel.

So in a bit of a trance, I got on the bike and started to pedal as he held me up. After a few pumps of the legs I gained a little momentum, and he announced he was going to let go.

Which is when I went about five feet, lost my balance, and ran straight into a giant wall of bushes. Once again proving the whole adage of never forgetting how to ride a bike is a big fat lie.

Pulling myself out of the bushes – with branches in my hair and scrapes on my arms – I see bike man laughing and running towards me, cheering, “you did it! You did it! Big deal that you crashed. Let’s get back on the bike.”

So I did, and the second time around I managed to not look like a complete fool. Emphasis on the word complete. It still wasn’t pretty. But I was on the bike and cheesing over the fact that I had just done something that scared me. That is until a car started driving past me and I panicked. But I digress. I actually rode the bike and that felt good.

Now, did I experience extreme embarrassment again that day? Absolutely.

But this second time around, I was grateful for the experience. Mainly because the reason I got onto the bike wasn’t one of desperation. This time around, it was because I was doing it to stop being afraid of it.

Plus, it turns out that gentleman’s words gave me a whole new perspective on bike riding. And running into that wall of bushes became more of a life parable than it would have had he not said that.

Because that experience led me to reflect on how often we choose to avoid something all because we’re scared of falling. Of crashing. Of looking like a failure. We trick ourselves into thinking that living the safe life – one where you never try anything new or retry something you’ve failed at before or take your feet off the ground (literally or figuratively) – is going to give us the easy life.

But in truth, avoiding all of those things we’re scared of just means we’re giving into a spirit of fear. Which is a weak spirit that, if given enough chances, will literally suck the life out of you. And the man – whose name I wish I could remember but will forever remember fondly as the bike man with infinite wisdom – was right: God didn’t give us a spirit of fear. He did give us free will to choose to live a life of fear. But I think most would agree it’s not the best way. And making the choice to stay afraid could keep you from the life He intended.

Now the voice in my head is telling me to wrap this up, and the cheesy side of me wants to close with something like “now go get on that bike, whatever your bike may be, and ride like the wind!” But the cynical side of me just rolled my eyes into the back of my head.

So I’ll just end with the most important phrase of this story, because the third time’s a charm, right? :

God didn’t give us a spirit of fear.

May we all choose to believe and live that.