My brother taught me how to ride my first bike when I was fourteen (much later than the other kids in the neighbourhood, I know). I must tell you, it was with much trepidation, on my part, that I even attempted such a feat as riding a bicycle. You must remember that some days it was all I could do to walk without stumbling and falling; however, my brother assured me that I would be okay.
With my brother securely holding the bike, I lifted my right leg over the crossbar and I sat upon the seat. When he was sure that I was ready, he instructed me to pedal. I was wobbly when I first started; I kept turning left and right with each pedal rotation. As I gain confidence, we picked up speed. I caught a quick glance at my brother, but he assured me he, ‘had me.’ I picked up greater speed until my brother was running behind me as he held the seat.
I was elated. I had done it. I was riding a bicycle. It was a while before I discovered that my brother had let go and left me to my own accord. As soon as this became evident, I panicked, and I immediately crashed into the curve and fell upon the grass. My brother ran up behind me laughing and I quickly joined in.
I could tell that he was pleased. I got up and dusted myself off. He explained to me how to stop. We picked up the bike and we turned it around. I climbed on board and I rode off again. In a little time, I had learnt how to ride a bike.
From then onward, cycling was my main mode of transportation.
—Robert Confiant 31 May 2016