I was may have been nine or ten even. My dad was away at sea most of the time and I was a big ninny. And my mother worked ... and there WERE four of us. But my sisters all could ride already and had their own bikes. I wasn't allowed one till I learned. *sigh*
One day when my dad was home (which was rare) and everyone was out riding and I really really wanted to go. but was very very afraid to. My dad said 'that's it you're learning now' He dug up this old bike. From whence it came I have no idea. I was very very afraid. My dad is sometimes scary and that rickety old bike was also pretty scary. Also we lived on the top of a slope. It isn't a steep slope. But to someone who never bicycled before ... it seemed steep. We stepped out the side gate. He ordered me to get on this metal contraption. He wheeled me to the centre of the avenue. He said he wouldn't let go. He lied, I flew down this hill, it became a hill in 3 seconds, I hit a rock, I flew some more ... and a tooth cracked. It hurt like all the seven (eight? ten?) levels of hell, and then he made me get on again and I didn't even have time to cry. He let go again, barely having time to remind me this time about brakes, and pedalling and handlebars and by the third time down that hill I could cycle.
I do not recommend this mode of teaching at all. Thankfully hubby taught our children to cycle as I would have nothing to do with it at all. ^_^ It is probably why I cycle badly and fearfully still.
no subject
One day when my dad was home (which was rare) and everyone was out riding and I really really wanted to go. but was very very afraid to. My dad said 'that's it you're learning now' He dug up this old bike. From whence it came I have no idea. I was very very afraid. My dad is sometimes scary and that rickety old bike was also pretty scary. Also we lived on the top of a slope. It isn't a steep slope. But to someone who never bicycled before ... it seemed steep. We stepped out the side gate. He ordered me to get on this metal contraption. He wheeled me to the centre of the avenue. He said he wouldn't let go. He lied, I flew down this hill, it became a hill in 3 seconds, I hit a rock, I flew some more ... and a tooth cracked. It hurt like all the seven (eight? ten?) levels of hell, and then he made me get on again and I didn't even have time to cry. He let go again, barely having time to remind me this time about brakes, and pedalling and handlebars and by the third time down that hill I could cycle.
I do not recommend this mode of teaching at all. Thankfully hubby taught our children to cycle as I would have nothing to do with it at all. ^_^ It is probably why I cycle badly and fearfully still.
But ahhh fun times it seems now.