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FEATURE
Power to the pedals Two-wheel hall of famer helps kids overcome cyclophobia by Jacqu ie Phe l an
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hat do you do with a kid who simply won’t ride a bike? Doesn’t know how, doesn’t want to? The ability to say “no” is one way kids gain control (nagging is a more common one) from grown-ups. If cycling is a hot button issue, it will probably be tested. This is where a friendly, unrelated adult can help work around the hurdles. As a seasoned bicycle instructor before it was considered a job (“everybody knows how to ride”), I was invited to design the bicycle skills used in the Safe Routes to Schools program. Marin is lucky to have a funded agency that can work within the schools; maybe some day, cycling instruction will be part of public school curriculum—if physical education in schools can survive. During the two years I served at Safe Routes, most fourth-graders in the county enjoyed a single-day rodeo-style event with obstacle courses, videos and enthusiastic personal instruction. I witnessed a range of know-how in 10-year-olds from competitive BMXers to a tiny fraction who seemed to say “not me.” That minority was easy to spot: While the I-Ride-a-Lots scooted around popping wheelies (I still can’t ) and others were surging forward to get the loaner bikes being rolled out, these kids were hanging back. Amid the hubbub, I’d grab a smallish bike and discreetly inquire if they’d like
to learn over there behind the handball courts? Nearly all agreed. I might pop off the pedals, to eliminate shin-scrapes. Sometimes it was a few kids, other times, a single one. They all got my custom “ride softly” technique. Sometimes they’ll share, other times one simply extrapolates. Athletic parents may expect—or maybe hope—the child will love it automatically. Maybe a bad crash (as perceived by the child), or even the emotional impact of a parent’s injury and hospital trip. It might even be self-protection: Some children might not be developmentally ready. And of course, there are parents like my friend Lenore S., who was an avid rider in her 20s, became an M.D. and had two boys. When I visited Connecticut 15 years later, I suggested we go riding with her two teenagers. “They never learned how to ride,” she said flatly. “But... how come?” I stammered. “We live on a busy road. I didn’t want them to die.” I didn’t press the issue. Only fools volunteer child-rearing advice. Was she doing her kids a favor dodging “fate”? Some day I’ll be brave enough to find out, but in the meantime I decided that this intelligent woman made a decision that brought in factors that I had never
thought of. Distracted drivers. Habitual speeders. Too many hours doing surgery on crash victims. To me, these were all reasons to avoid using a car and cycle off-road!
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AT THE AGE OF 9, I couldn’t ride a bike. Mom and Dad were too busy creating, feeding and clothing four younger sibs to take or make the time. I practically stole a bike from the kid next door to figure it out myself. As an enterprising 9-year-old, I got around pretty easily in 1963, especially in a city like Topeka, full of wide, flat roads inhabited by families with a single car. All the kids rode or walked to school, which was true nearly everywhere. Cycling was perceived as safe, and it was. It still is, but it’s not perceived that way. “Normal” changed dramatically beginning in the 1970s, abetted by California Automobile Club lobbyists, policymakers and the catastrophic effects on traffic brought about by poorly planned subdivisions. Normal is mom driving the kids everywhere, and the firm belief that it would be impossible, or cruel, to leave the kids to their own legs. Then the kids fledge into baby drivers with all of the privileges and none of the judgment or brain develop-
ment of adult drivers; they then risk becoming part of the annual “cull” (teen auto death statistics in Marin are grim). Today’s kid has half as much breathing room (America has doubled its population since I was born), and automobile ownership and use has doubled and doubled again, according to the U.S. Department of Energy. Californians today have almost one auto per capita (860 per thousand people) and it’s a sure bet in our county it’s closer to two per capita, although no statistic backs me up. It’s just the three or four cars per household here in Fairfax I count going up my street. What conscientious parent would sacrifice his or her child in the road-rage scrum of the morning commute? Living in the heart-home of car culture, Los Angeles, I had a license at 16 and quit driving at 18. My enthusiasm for those short “letme-practice” auto outings was ruined the day my friend Kevin Smith, a gifted artist at our huge L.A. high school, died along with a drunken driver who’d picked Kevin up hitchhiking home from the beach. It happened the day preceding graduation (so I have an irrational fear of high school graduations, too), and a 5-mile jaunt snuffed his bright flame. My secondhand teen trauma morphed into a lifetime love affair with the bike, and a fierce, irrational loathing of car culture. Could the reverse happen? Non-riders become dedicated automobile nuts—who hate cyclists and bikes? We Americans spend a third of our income on auto upkeep and ownership. In Marin, maybe a fifth to a tenth. Half-a-million Americans are maimed or die each year in traffic incidents; it’s the annual crop of carnage you never hear about or read about, but might experience personally. If not found drunk or texting, people get away with murder driving a car because it’s not a crime to kill, it’s just... an “accident.” It’s considered a civil matter, despite the fact that cars are weapons regardless of who drives them. Until the bicycle lobby can match the motor lobby, we will have kids who prefer to spend their childhood indoors, safe and sound. < U.S. Cycling Hall of Famer Jacquie (yes, I have a car) Phelan teaches bicycle skills to nervous adults, bored children and confused squirrels. Sometimes she sits indoors, ruining her eyes on the computer.
A positive attitude and encouragement, rather than pressure, go a long way in boosting a child’s confidence. But Dad, where’s her helmet?
Overcome your postophobia, at ›› pacificsun.com JULY 1 – JULY 7, 2011 PACIFIC SUN 13