This week Edward is doing cycling proficiency lessons after school.

Bikes

I never really got to grips with bikes as a kid.

I got a Raleigh Extreme¹ for Christmas one year and was in awe of it for a while before I tried learning to ride it. My learning to ride was² one of my Father's little projects.

My Dad loved to be really hands on in the teaching department, taking me through everything from reading to fire lighting. It was to be the same as he took me down to York Gardens, at the bottom of Plough Road in Battersea, to try to wean me off of stabilisers.

His efforts followed the pattern they always did. Things started well, with me picking up some of the basics, but I didn't have the confidence and coordination to really get to grips with it. This resulted in him pushing me too hard just at the time I was becoming annoyingly unwilling to carry on.

Whatever the project the point would come where I said I couldn't do it, he said I could and argument ensued. Now he was nearly always right, but he was also completely unhelpful at these points as he seemed fixed on proving me wrong rather than helping me for my sake.
Anyway eventually I got those wobbly wheels under control and was able to do laps of the park.

"Wow!" I remember thinking. "This is coool".

So it wasn't long before I was allowed to take my bike out on my own. On the first occasion I wheeled it down the steep hill that is Plough road and then rode it along and into York Gardens.

I started doing laps of the gardens, getting up to warp speed, and enjoying myself. Of course it was just at the moment when my confidence was highest that disaster struck.

A bollard blocked my path (This story does shed some light on why the incident in my last diary entry was so traumatic). I had cycled past it many times but as I approached it on this occasion I wobbled slightly and by the time I had corrected myself I was on an unavoidable collision course.

I flew over the handlebars, my chubby 10 year old butt describing an elegant parabola.

The moment seemed to last forever.

When I recovered from the serious winding I got up to inspect my machine. It was totally wrecked.

Partly through the pain and bruising and partly through the terrible way I had treated this elegant machine I swore then never to go near another two-wheeled vehicle again.

The Return of the Scooter

So I stuck to that rule until the whole micro scooter thing. I had had a few goes before the events of last week, and after my baptism of fire I now had full confidence in my control of this two-wheeled beast.

And so it was that when Edward had to take his bike in for cycling proficiency I decided to take the scooter so we could both ride to school.

I left the house with no fear this time. After all this was a fine morning without the foul weather of last week and there were no vicious slopes ahead of me.

We rode to school with no incident. In fact my mastery of the scooter became so complete that I stopped having to think about controlling it and was able to glide along chatting to my young charge.

We got to school on time and said our goodbyes and I turned to go home.

As I glided along over the pavement I thought about the way the leaves were changing. The nights are really starting to draw in and a long winter is ahead of us. I thought about all my plans to find a job, write some articles and visit friends.

I also thought about the poor people stuck in traffic at the lights as I sped past them and across the main road. They were all sat there in machines that could do around 100mph and yet here I was moving faster than them. They must have been bored and jealous I thought.

I reached the pavement and continued on my way.

And then I flew over the handlebars, my chubby 21 year old butt describing an elegant parabola.

I had hit a join between pavement and extremely rough tarmac without noticing and was in the process of being catapulted several yards.

As I flew though the air I thought "Oh no! Not again". The pain began immediately after I landed.

Grazes

When I was 8 I was very much into swimming.

When we went on holiday that summer I was really excited because we were going somewhere with a pool for the first time ever. We didn’t know what time the pool was opening and so I got up early on the first morning to find out.

I jumped out of bed, threw my clothes on and rushed out of the door without saying good morning to anyone. I dashed along the gravel path to the pool. There was a sign saying it would be open in 10 minutes at 9AM.

I turned without stopping, sliding in the gravel, and started to run back. Unfortunately I had forgotten to tell my legs where I was going and with no one controlling them they decided to make a concerted effort to escape from their role as my main form of propulsion and go and live on a kibbutz in Israel.

The upshot of this was that I fell with great force, sliding across the grating, stony, floor. When I sat up I discovered I had a vicious graze on my left hand. Then the real pain started and I noticed my right knee. I had taken a huge area of skin clean off and was looking at the bare flesh of my kneecap.

I recovered, but I couldn't go swimming that week. Ever since I have carried a white scar on my knee as a reminder to pay more attention and care when traversing rough surfaces.

Embarrassment

As I sat up on the rough surface of the street my first thought was for Edward's scooter, which was, thankfully, fine.

I then inspected myself and discovered a vicious graze on my right hand. Then the real pain started in my left knee. I rolled up my trouser leg to find I had taken a huge area of skin clean off and was looking at the bare flesh of my kneecap.

Yes, I am soon to have symmetrical scarring. Then my ears kicked in and I heard the laughter. The entire queue of traffic I had felt so superior to second before was laughing at me.

When the lights turned green it took some time before the lead car pulled away its driver was guffawing so much.

I dusted myself down and began the long limp home with the vow I had sworn as a 10 year old ringing in my ears.

"Never go near two-wheeled vehicles".

"And always trust the judgement of 10 years olds", I added.

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