Riding a bike is supposed to be one of those fundamental skills that you learn as a kid – and for me, it was. My parents taught me how to ride a bike when I was five and I absolutely loved it. What kid doesn’t enjoy the excitement of getting to ride by yourself all around your neighborhood.

Unfortunately, my passion for bike riding came to a crashing halt about three years ago when I took my last and most traumatic ride. It was the summer after my freshman year when people were just starting to get back together for events. On this particular day, my parents had family and friends over for a small get together. 

At the time, I was like most kids wanting to avoid having to talk to adults. This is how I came up with the idea to go on a bike ride around my neighborhood all on my own. It had been over a few years at this point since I had last ridden a bike, but I had some delusional confidence that it wouldn’t be difficult to just get on and start pedaling. 

My first mistake was taking my mom’s mountain bike that she used for races in her bicyclist group. Now this was no ordinary bike- it was very specifically designed to be faster, lighter, and more ergonomic than your average bike.

Of course, that didn’t phase me at all. I proceeded to hop onto it even though the seat was raised far too high. My feet weren’t even close to touching the ground. I was kind of hesitant at this point because I couldn’t balance properly, but there was no one to really help me, so I started to pedal, hoping I wouldn’t fall off.

Once I got the momentum going, it felt like something had just clicked. The wind was blowing perfectly and it was so sunny outside. I was very proud of myself for getting the hang of it on my own. I was biking all the way through my neighborhood and even around the town. 

When I finally decided to go home, I was feeling pretty cocky about my riding skills. I was doing one handed turns around every curb feeling like I was on the top of the world. This all came to an abrupt stop when I went to turn around the last curb closest to my house.

I attempted to drift around the corner but instead collided straight against the curb. My poorly executed “drift” resulted in me flying into the air with the bike intact between my legs. As I was soaring over the patch of grass, I immediately knew that the landing was going to be painful.

When I hit the ground, with the bike still attached to me, the pain was clouded by the immense feeling of shame and embarrassment. I just wanted to lay there and die at that point. My short-lived episode of humiliation then transitioned into a throbbing feeling in my chest.

I was completely winded and couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was dying. My legs were so sore and stuck to the metal pedals from all the mud that I delved into. This was it for me – I was done for when all of a sudden, a black sports car pulled up to my side.

The man driving slowly rolled down his window. The first words out of his mouth were “Holy crap, I just saw you eat it! Are you good? ” I was mortified by his reaction because it was already bad enough that I was laying on the side of the road all bruised up and bloody, but another human being had witnessed this. 

I felt like I could never show my face in public again, and I didn’t even know the guy. My immediate reaction to his concern was  “just keep driving, I’m fine” as I waved him off. Now I was not only in physical pain, but I had just had the most embarrassing moment of my life.

I had to pick myself up and finish the journey home, so I called my dad to come get me. Now as I said before, my parents had company over so their main focus was on hosting. When I called my dad, I explained to him through my sobbing and wheezing what had occurred, but the connection was wonky so he told me to “just come back home” and hung up.

I was so defeated at this point. I had crashed in front of a random guy and my dad told him he wasn’t coming to get me. So I put my big girl pants on, lifted my bike off of the ground, and walked it all the way back to my house.

Even though I was only a street down, I managed to take 10 minutes to walk back, because I could not stop crying. I even had to pass the same guy who saw my incident because he was parked in his driveway. We made brief eye contact again, but he kept his head down. I think he knew that deep down inside, a part of me died that day.

When I managed to get home, my Dad felt terrible because he had no idea what had happened. I’m sure I did a poor job of explaining it on the phone since I couldn’t breathe or talk properly.

All in all, this experience was humbling to say the least and definitely took me down a few pegs as far as my confidence in physical activity. I swore to never touch a bike after what I had gone through.

Unfortunately, my days of abstaining from bike riding are over because I have a senior trip planned with my best friend to Washington, D.C. Now you may be asking yourself what the capital city and biking have in common, and to that I say: nothing.

However, my friend wants us to bike through the city to see all the sites which I’m not interested in doing whatsoever. But in all relationships, especially friendships, you must make sacrifices, and if she wants to bike around one of the busiest cities in our country, I am happy to swallow my pride. That is why my goal for this year is to learn how to ride a bike.