Bike Daddy

I was at a downtown bike shop a few weeks ago and while the mechanic very kindly installed my lights I happened to mention that I had no experience with bikes at all. I don't know what the parts are called (so he nicely pointed out to me what's a "derailer") nor can I even change a tire.

"At least", he said, "you are on a bike."

Calgary, over 20 years ago.
I covet that road bike. 

 Which is true. And it's not just because I am a student with more time than money these days (part of the whole idea of "cycling in a skirt" is to be able to transition this form of transportation to a professional job, when I might need to arrive in a skirt, or at least something half decent), or part of the hipster scene where a bicycle is an accessory. No, I wanted to tell him, I am descended (directly) from the man who has been riding his bike to work for the past 30 years. Meet my Pops, my first example of the urban cyclist:

There are days when I am in the kitchen or at the sewing machine and the only reason I know how to do something (like check the cup of flour for air pockets, install the zipper foot or something equally exciting) is because I watched my mother do it. I'm not entirely sure if I'm doing it correctly, but I go through the motions and it seems to work. Psychology calls this "observational learning."

Did it work the same with the bike? Oh, no, no, no.  I guess in my teenage years I didn't spend enough time in the basement when Dad was giving the bikes their yearly tuneup, and the only time he would change a tire would be on the side of the road so I missed those too.  No, but there was a different sort of teaching and learning to which I was privy.

I'm learning from his example.  He's the one who bought me my first two wheel model. It was a red bike with cruiser handles, a white seat and when Dad came back from a business trip he brought me a package of multicoloured plastic tubing to put on the wheels. I was stylin'. He was the one who took me to the schoolground across the street and taught me to ride it. He took us around the community on our bikes. Over the years he has also made sure we had a proper fit. He even sent me back to Ontario with a new (to me) bike after the wedding. He's been riding the bike for many, many years. I know he doesn't exactly like the helmet (a requirement by law in Alberta and PEI, but only for those under 18 in Ontario) but he understands it's necessity, and so, I wear it anytime I'm on two wheels. He also hates riding in the rain and usually gets a drive on those days. I'm okay with that too. I still have bus tickets. 

So while I might not know how to change a tire, I do at least know how to ride a bike, and how to appreciate the fitness of making it part of the daily commute.  And Dad, (after fielding multiple emails about chain cleaning and brake type and tire removal) has already promised to give me a quick lesson in tuneups the next time I'm home. Thanks, Papa.