Max received his first bike when he was four. He rode it until the tires wore thin. It had training wheels and I would raise them so that he might get the hang of it, but he never wanted them off. When he was six he got a new bike…no training wheels. He rode it less than ten times and each time was with me running behind him and holding onto the seat down Grand Ave in St. Paul. I imagine we were a sight.
Today, I had some fun to attend, so I brought Max to the cousin’s. Cousin had an old bike that has gone unused for years in their garage. She told him to get on a ride it. So he did. The boy did not fall one time and didn’t hesitate in his balance. I (like a girly-girl) yelped and shed a happy tear. My little guy is now a bike rider. Fine, fine day.
The Pilver 
First time I tried to ride a bike without training wheels, I fell in a mud puddle. I then cried and ran inside to eat some Trix or something.
and so begins some of the most free years of his life.
Some of my favorite memories of youth were the free-wheeling summers on my bicycle.
Ya for Max! No the fun comes. Along with neosporin of course.
I remember my bike being my key to freedom when I was a kid. I knew every inch of my neighborhood and had no fear. I can’t imagine now doing some of the tricks and taking some of the hills and stuff that I did back then. You have no fear when you’re like 8 years old. Just be ready for plenty of scabs.