My older brother taught me. Or tried. We had a long, shale driveway that sloped down from the farm to the road. First he had me stand on the left pedal and coast down. Then he insisted that I swing my right foot over the seat like a boy, "the real way". (He's less of a male chauvinist now, but at 9 he was as bad as all his buddies. ) We kept trying that until I crashed on the shale and turned one knee and shin into a bloody mess. I think my Dad took over the lessons the next weekend. This was a time when he was working in Oakland and only really home on weekends, which meant Mom had all the farm chores to do all week. But finally Dad had time and taught me the way he'd taught my brother, by holding on to the seat and running along behind until I took off and hardly noticed I'd left him behind. Dad also said it was ok for me to step through the frame, that it was a privilege of girlhood to have a bike that allowed that.

Did Dad also teach you to ride, Trek420? Or did Joel? I know I did a rescue once when you got a cramp in a lake, but I can't recall being involved when you learned to ride a bike. Maybe I was already away at college ...? Næh. You had a bike before you were 10, I'm pretty sure.