"It's like riding a bicycle. . ."

I learned to ride a bicycle on a golf course in Kansas. Improbable, but true. My dad took me up a little hill and let the bike roll down with me on it.

"Hold on, Daddy! Hold on!"

"I am," he shouted from the top of the hill, as I rolled down the slope.

At the bottom, I turned around, indignant. "You let go!" I protested.

"And you rode the bike alone, " he said with a grin.

And so I rode that bike in Topeka, Arlington, and Bethesda. Then when I turned 12, I got my heart's desire - a brand new English bike. Which I rode in the countryside of Maryland (rarely) and all around Michigan State (whenever it wasn't snowing). My last bike I used to ride Jennie and Sarah around Pacific Grove all those years ago.

"It's like riding a bicycle. . ." That's what they say about a skill which, once mastered, will stay with you the rest of your life? Well, they are mistaken. My head says it's true, but my body disagrees.

I really thought I could do it - just jump on and go like I did all those years ago. But some things do change. My knees have arthritis. My head has vertigo. The heart is willing, but the body is weak.

Nevertheless, I have a plan. My bike and I are going to look for a big, empty parking lot and we are going to try again.