Growing up in the city – a densely populated city with Very Steep Hills and Wildy Careening Buses – meant there was no opportunity to ride bikes at home. I had to wait til the summer, at a grandma’s house, and then I had to wait for the day when there were simultaneously a) a bike to ride, b) a grandma’s quiet neighborhood to ride it through, c) the impetus to learn, and d) someone to teach me. I got so frustrated, dreaming of bike rides and waking up to the cold foggy trafficky steps-carved-into-the-sidewalk-so-you-don’t-slide-to-the-bottom city, then of course wanting to sleep or read in the air conditioned dark rather than let my uncle Garfield coax me onto the banana seat. Hooray for Norwegian persistance, is all I can say; he did a good job.

Now I only ride in the desert, when it’s 120