Why I Finally Conquered the Art of Biking at 35

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On June 1, 2013—just ten days before my second child was due—I finally faced my two-wheeled nemesis head-on. After three decades filled with bruised knees and a bruised ego, I learned to ride a bike.

Growing up in suburban New Jersey during the ’80s, I missed out on the classic childhood experience of riding without training wheels, while my friends zoomed past, cheered on by their parents. For some reason, I just couldn’t get the hang of it. No matter how hard I tried, I kept falling. Eventually, the frustration won, and I abandoned my bike to rust away in the overgrown weeds of my backyard.

I accepted that cycling just wasn’t for me. If I spotted a group of bikes at a friend’s house, I’d steer clear, knowing I couldn’t keep up. Getting my driver’s license in 1995 was a relief; kids weren’t biking much anymore, and I could easily disguise my balance issues. This trend continued through college and beyond, where I opted for walking or driving instead.

After graduation, I finally confessed my biking secret to my wife. She listened patiently but then insisted, “It’s time to learn.” In my late twenties, I attempted to reclaim my dignity but failed miserably. Teaching myself with my wife’s bike ended in disaster, so I enlisted the help of a friend who was an avid cyclist. I thought he could guide me, but I spent hours stumbling and tumbling through quiet Philadelphia streets. I thanked him with a six-pack of beer, still unable to master something most kids do with ease.

Years passed without another attempt until my wife sent me information about an adult biking class. “This is it,” I thought. Everyone in that class would be just like me. But after the class, they all learned to ride while I still struggled. I felt like that same kid in New Jersey, watching friends ride without me.

The funk persisted—until my wife suggested buying a bike and practicing on my own. Reluctantly, I visited a local shop, shared my plight with the owner, and walked away with a new bike after an awkward conversation. I practiced, but progress was slow.

Then everything shifted when my son, Ben, was born in 2009. Suddenly, learning to ride was no longer just about me; I wanted to teach him. With my daughter’s arrival looming, I finally found the courage to try the adult biking class again. Motivated by visions of my kids, I wobbled around the corner as the instructors cheered. At 35, I finally didn’t fall!

Fast forward over two years—I’m not a biking expert yet. I still get a little nervous when cars pass too closely or when I’m stuck behind a line of tourists on Segways. But I can ride! This summer, I took the training wheels off Ben’s bike, a bittersweet moment for sure. He may not be riding yet, but when he falls, I’ll be right there beside him, ready to help him get back up.

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In summary, sometimes finding the motivation to tackle our fears can lead to unexpected triumphs. Whether it’s biking or beginning a family, it’s never too late to start!