PUBLISHER’S MESSAGE

Training Wheels

A couple of months ago, we taught our youngest son how to ride a bike. When he peddled out into the cul-de-sac without his training wheels for the first time, the expression on his face was one of pure joy.

As my wife and I watched him spread his wings—by that evening he was bombing down the hill and launching off the curb—I thought back to my early days on two wheels. As a kid, your bicycle equals freedom. Just like my five-year-old, I started within a strict set of boundaries on my street, which continued to expand as I gained my parents’ trust. Before long, I was able to ride the quarter-mile or so to the gas station where I would spend my hard-earned allowance on a pack of gum, usually Hubba Bubba.

Before long, my circle of competence expanded and I found myself at Long’s Drugs where I could mull over a massive assortment of candy bars, plus they had some pretty decent G.I. Joe figurines to look at in the toy aisle. Then, I advanced to the hobby shop—a big-time jump in my personal liberty. But, it was once I was able to meet my friends out around town that the genie was out of the bottle for good. Those first few pick-up football games in the park with my buddies were pure magic.

Now, when I see our little guy flying around on his Huffy “Rock It”—a hand-me-down from his big brother—I will admit that the feeling is bittersweet. Yes, I am super excited for him to eventually have the same sort of experiences with his friends that I did. But, he is the baby of the family, after all, and I often wish that we could freeze him in time forever. What I did not expect, however, was for some of that youthful exuberance to rub off on me, which is exactly what happened.

Inspired by my son, I decided to get myself a new bike. It had been years since I had one, plus I wanted to be a part of Regional Rideshare’s Bike Month, which this magazine was a sponsor. The idea of commuting to work has always intrigued me, so I figured that this was the perfect opportunity to give it a try. Immediately, I was transported back to those endless days spent riding around in a quixotic search for the baseball cards that were missing from my collection. Being on a bike is so different than being in a car, and I began to question why it took me so long to get back on one, especially since downtown San Luis Obispo, where 80% of my meetings are these days, is almost exactly between my house and my office, making a perfect bike-friendly triangle. Plus, whenever I arrive at wherever I am going I just feel so much better, although usually a little sweaty and out of breath.

Lately, when I come home I find my little guy out riding his bike up and down our neighbors’ driveways. He is so completely in the moment, so stoked. And, that’s when I realize that while I thought it was me who was teaching him all this time, it was really just the other way around. Now, if we could only find some Hubba Bubba.

I would like to take this opportunity to say “thank you” to everyone who had a hand in producing this issue of SLO LIFE Magazine and, most of all, to our advertisers and subscribers—we couldn’t do it without you.

Live the SLO Life!

Tom Franciskovich tom@slolifemagazine.com