Not Your Parents’ Way Of Leaving

 I don’t remember when, exactly, I started to ride a bicycle. I would guess, however, that whatever age I was, my first experience with two wheels included training wheels. Until recently, that was how most kids learned to ride.

During the past decade or so, that has changed.  More very young children are getting their first cycling experience on “balance bikes.”  They are like regular bikes, but smaller and without pedals.

One result is that kids are riding regular bicycles at earlier ages. Some are mounting balance bikes as early as six months old and making the transition to two wheels and two pedals as young as two years old. (Will this give new meaning to “the terrible twos?”) 

That means some children are riding regular bikes at an earlier age than people of my generation started on training wheels. And for most of us, the training wheels came off some time between the ages of four and six.

According to researchers, one reason why some babies are ready for a balance bike before their first birthday is that the cerebellum—the part of the brain that controls balance and coordination—typically goes through a growth spurt at six to eight months. And one of the reasons why youngsters who amble along on balance bikes learn to pedal regular bikes at an earlier age is that riding with training wheels doesn’t teach proprioception, the body’s ability to understand where it is in space. That is why a child has to re-learn balance—and is as likely as not to fall—when moving away from training wheels. “You can balance without pedaling, but you can’t pedal without balancing,” says Christian’s Mercé, a sports sciences professor at Portugal’s Santarém Polytechnic University.

She and other researchers stress that children should develop their riding skills at their own pace. Their parents shouldn’t panic if they’re not ready for a regular bike at, say, six years old.

As increasing numbers of children learn how to ride on balance bikes, it will be interesting to see whether and how the next generation of cyclists differs from us.

Dressed Up

 Ok, call me sentimental. But I’ve always had a soft spot for the Seals and Crofts tune “Summer Breeze.” It’s part of the soundtrack of my growing up, and it happens to be an ear-worm at this moment.  Not that I mind.

The tune is lovely and some of the lyrics evoke pleasant sensory images. But one in particular has always intrigued me: “July is dressed up and playing her tune.” I can see the “dressed up” part in this photo from Pedro Szekely:

Whose Deaths Should Be Commemorated?

 Although I consider myself a “99 percent” pacifist, I have the utmost respect for veterans.  It actually pains me physically to know that some are living under bridges, railroad trestles and highway overpasses. I’ve seen them while riding for fun, commuting or errands and have offered money, food, bottles to recycle or other items.  Sometimes they were too proud or ashamed (which are really the same thing) to accept; other times, I have discreetly left items or money to “find.”

I mention my attitude and relationship toward veterans in the hope that no one thinks I’m disrespecting them with the comparison I am about to make.

I do not support the removal of a gravestone or any other monument to any veteran—whether he or she died in battle at a young age or was an officer who lived to his or her dotage, and whether he or she was on the “right” side of a conflict. Most combatants are conscripted or join because of familial or societal pressures. They are all part of a carnage which I hope, however naïvely, will be seen one day as unnecessary as alpaca pantaloons.

Likewise, I would hope that all of the tributes—including “ghost” bikes—to cyclists killed by motorists are never removed.

Apparently, some person or organization in Austin, Texas doesn’t share my view.  “Ghost” bikes have been disappearing from the city’s streets.

Some people believe they are being retrieved for scrap metal, possibly by unhoused people. But there are also rumors that they are being systematically removed by city agencies or individuals who aren’t as in dire straits as the unhoused but don’t want to be reminded of any unpleasantness. As one resident whined, “A person died here, for heaven’s sake. Can’t you just let it be?”

I wonder whether that person would want to “just let it be” if the person to whom the monument was dedicated had died in defending the Alamo or slavery—which, if you read any history at all, you would realize are the same thing.