Drafting

I learned to ride a bicycle by coasting down a small hill in our yard. It was my brother’s idea. He went on to earn a doctorate in engineering, so I feel good about his logic — trying to balance would be easier while coasting, not pedaling.

I’m sure he mentioned turning and stopping too, but somehow I failed to hear that part of the briefing.

So he pointed me down the hill, and I set forth, found my balance and coasted straight into a 16-foot chisel hooked up to the tractor.

I must have screamed, because my mother and sister came running out of the front door to help my brother administer aid.

I still have the small scar that proves farm machinery beats quad muscle, every time, but later that day, once I’d mastered the tripartite skills of pedaling, turning and stopping, I felt like I’d been granted a doctorate in Elegant Modes of Overland Transportation.

I rode up and down every inch of our farm, wind in my hair and thrill of achievement in my heart. Twilight came, and I sailed through the pockets of cool air that collected in low spots along our lane, then back through the warm air atop each rise. I was free. I could ride anywhere the Texas sandburs allowed.

Even today, it’s hard to resist the time-machine effect of pedaling a bicycle. Gliding down a quiet street at dusk still makes me feel like a kid.

I married a guy who likes triathlons. One year he upgraded his road bike, and we decided I should get one too, lest I suffer the fate of those left behind on long adventures.

Since my husband is the stronger cyclist, I had to master the art of drafting so we could ride together. Following in his slipstream allows me to cover the same distance while expending less energy.

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