Everyone learns how to ride a bike at one point in their life. I learned at the age of six. The pavement squeaked beneath my tires as I furiously pedaled trying to gain speed. The sun blazed down, illuminating the road in front of me and sending a wave of heat throughout my body. The sweat slowly pooled at my hairline and dripped down my face. My head pounded as I raced down the asphalt. I could feel the cool breeze running through my hair and cooling me down. The roars of my parents cheering chased me down as I went. My bike gleamed beneath me, a white streak in the wind. Slowing down I rode to the curb allowing a black van to ride by. My legs pumping furiously I fired back down the street, hungry for more speed. The seat fell away as I stood
Located in the popular Yosemite National Park, Yosemite Falls is the tallest waterfall in California. Every year, mother nature’s breathtaking beauty attracts millions of people from around the world. People hike for three long and fatiguing hours in anticipation of witnessing forceful water rushing down the steep mountain from 2,425 feet above. Last summer, my family and I backpacked through the Yosemite Falls Trail and I came to learn what a truly exhausting experience it is.
Bicycling was an exciting experience for two reasons. First, it has allowed me to travel around the city. Second, it gives me a chance to hang out with my friends. I love bicycling, I think it is fabulous! I can now observe my city, the people that lived there, the architecture, and the trees and animals, etc. Sometimes in our life, we just need to slow down our pace. We're so used to rushing through life that we don't even know what we have missed, but It's hard to blame ourselves because we're busy about our jobs especially when we were living in the city. I was once like that; I head right straight to school when it's time for school. As I walk I would only stare at my watch instead if looking to my left and/ or right.
On my hunk of rusted metal long ago called a bike I rode up to the thing I once called home in the hot Louisiana sun. It was the Oak Grove football field. I slowly rolled up with my brakes creaking like the knee brace I wore, I came to a halt ready to start on my adventure once again. I strolled up to the field and everyone eyes traveled straight to me.
When I was seven years old I learned how to ride a bike I started of in a less bumpy place then I started in a more crowded area. I remember the feeling of the wind flowing through my hair as I rode. My step dad and step brother were both cheering me on. They yelled for me to fall over because I was rolling toward the road. I fingered the ground that was as hard as a rock. I was fine I just got up and brushed myself off.
The fall rain pounded against the almost opaque window of the car or the miserable excuse of one they were driving. The fall leaves scattered across the highway made a satisfying crunch as the car scuttled away to its next destination. Inside John was getting vexed by the crappiness of the ride, driving the car with one hand and trying to massage his aching back with the other. The already uncomfortable seat paired with the seemingly endless amount of potholes made the idea of a proper ride seem almost as plausible as a cure. Thinking back to the time when he rode his Harley—its smooth leather seat, the roar of the engine, and the wind in his face— he, as he often times would, began to linger in memories of the past. Meanwhile, in the backseat,
Boom. Breath. Boom. Breath. Each step sounded like a war drum banging in my ears. The harmonious rhythm of my steps consistent with my breath continued on and on as I made my way up the side of the cliff in the middle of these Colorado woods. The sweltering heat was hindering my vision, and I began to feel dizzy. The worst part is, I am all alone.
When I was first tried to ride my bike without training wheels, it was during the summer. One hot day, I got my papa to take off the training wheels and then we pushed the bike to the front yard, which is where I would start. I hopped on my bike and started to pedaled. I made it a couple of inches before I fell, so then I took a break. After the break, I hopped back on my bike and started to pedaled again, and then I rode the bike
My mother would occasionally step outside to look for me, usually checking the swing first. I remember seeing my brother’s bike by the chicken coop, parked in a very creative way. It 's generally just lying around somewhere in the yard, and I usually don 't give it much thought, and I guess I didn 't give it much thought this time. I went over to it, and decided that this was my time to learn, just as my brother had, how to ride a bike. It did not make much sense to me, it just fell over before I even began to try riding
Think about it, one of the hardest things a child will learn to do, beyond walking or talking, is learning how to ride a bicycle. That is the main reason we decided to give others a chance to see that teaching your child to ride a
Under a sky as blue as the fluffy scrunchie I wore every day that year, my second grade classmates pushed against each other. They were fighting for a prized spot just behind the line that marked the start of the loop around the fields perimeter. It was the day of the mile run. The smells of freshly cut grass and budding trees filled me with excitement as I took my place. I was ready to race.
Learning How to Ride a Bike One of my childhood memories that I remember was when I learned how to ride a bike by myself. I remembered that during one summer, my parents bought me the bike at Toys R Us. the bike costed around a hundred dollars. It took me about three days to learn how to ride a bike by myself.
The darkness loomed above me, the few remaining stars twinkling sporatically, as if the emptiness was snuffing them out. I waved goodbye to my friends at the comic store, my usual stop on Thursday nights. I grabbed my bike and began pedaling, pushing myself up for the arduous journey home. After a short time, I entered the maze-like development aptly named "Fireside. " I rode my bike at a carefree pace, after all I had taken this route at least once a week.
The ride to Saint Anselm College is only an hour and a half long, and I felt every minute of it. The vibration of the road below my feet, the pounding of the speaker by my side, and the swirling of nerves in the pit of my stomach. The windows were down and the warm air
Way back when I was little, I wanted to learn how to use a tricycle. I easily learned how to use it. Way before middle school and high school, it happened that the day had come. I was going to learn how to use a bicycle. I was not successful at first because I could not keep my balance and use my pedals fast enough to move without losing my balance. Then I took my feet off of the bike pedals, and put my feet on the ground and stopped. I was afraid to get hurt by falling down on the driveway.
I was only ten years old when I began learning how to ride a bike which wasn’t easy for me but got the hang of like any other person would. My family members were annoyed of me constantly asking for someone to teach me. I wanted my own bike just like my sisters and be able to ride along with them and not bother with their rude remarks of not being able to ride a bike. So my father decided to help me learn in front of my building in the summer until I was able to ride on my own. My father's reason for teaching was for us to spend more quality time together since he was always working. It took me three weeks to learn due to the small accident I had which help me learn a valuable lesson.