No Hands

I finally did it! There was a prolonged moment of indecision and trepidation, like jumping off the high dive for the first time. But then I just let go and raised my hands in the air. I was cruising down a hill along the Mississippi River. Throughout my life, I've seen people do it like it was nothing. This summer in DC I saw lots of young kids looking cool as salmon as they swerved and speeded on their bikes through patchy Capital Hill streets, arms flopping at their sides. I figured riding with no hands was a skill that you either had and felt totally comfortable doing, or one you didn't and you would mess yourself up if you tried it. Like riding a bike itself. I hadn't taken the plunge when I was younger, so my adult self had grown catious and inhibitted. But this new bike with its fat mountain tires gave me new courage. It's much smoother than my old Gary Fischer Aquila, which was stolen from the UMN campus last year, and incomparible better than the beat up bmx bike I was riding this summer.

It felt like a new world I was perched upon while I coasting down that hill without hands. A world that just let me glide through it, taking care to prop me up so I didn't be concerned about myself. Then I tried pedaling -- back to the world of holding on.