I remember the first time I tried to pop a wheelie; I lifted the bike just an inch or so off the ground, and my father shook his head.
Easy for some…
Photo by Albert Lynn:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/istargazer/211960434/
My balance point is in the middle left region of my brain, which also happens to be aware of when I’m about to do something irrational. While not an acrobat, I am about as acrobatic as a flea on mild hallucinogenic painkillers. Thus, when I’ve had to think about anything I tend to fall flat on my face. I was a skilled faller. All kids cartwheel; but, when I was ten, I would fling myself from the roof of my school, roll into a front-flip, and all with only mild ankle sprains. Yet, much to my father’s dismay, I couldn’t wheelie on a bike—hell, I could hardly hop up onto a curb. But my father, who could drive; fly; and float anything, learned to wheelie on a dirt bike when he was just eight years old. Anyways, what follows is a listing of his advice:
- Don’t be afraid of falling.
- You will fall.
- You can’t do a half-wheelie (I tend to disagree as I have done a great many half-wheelies).
Thinking back on it, it’s strange that my father might have thought of me as being the kind of kid who was always afraid of falling. Maybe I was better at hiding my recklessness than I thought. I wonder about this as I look into the eyes of the ten year old I’m entrusted with. I know her intentions, I know when she’s up to no good, I know when she’s hiding something, but I doubt I have any idea what she’s thinking about when she stares out the window on those quiet long drives home.
It’s hard to imagine my father as a daredevil and myself as the conservative, and while this would be a gross oversimplification, I doubt I’ve ever had enough awareness to see myself for who I’ve even been at a given moment in time. Maybe he did though, and maybe I’m starting to now.
And I wonder about this as I’m no closer to doing a wheelie.
Lack of effort might be a mild contributor.