Like many others, my dad was the one who taught me to ride a bike. It was so long ago that I actually don't remember learning. I'm pretty sure I was riding on two wheels by 5. I do remember riding my tricycle to a nearby parking lot with my dad and brother and riding around and around and around for hours (it felt like). I can still hear the squeak-squeak, squeak-squeak of the pedals. Biking has always been second nature to me. It's in my blood. Both my parents were avid bikers--my mom crossed the country when she was 20. Later, she and my dad moved from Santa Cruz to Davis with only what was strapped to their bikes. They travelled extensively by bike and train until my brother and I came along. When we moved to Stockton, our biking options were seriously limited. Stockton lacked and still lacks a decent biking infrastructure. The only way we could bike farther than our little neighborhood was by driving our bikes somewhere. My dad, however, is pretty fearless and he still used his free time to explore the levee roads or ride out into the country. As soon as we all left Stockton, we all picked up biking regularly again. My dad barely drives because he commutes everywhere by bike and then rides 40-60 miles on the weekend for fun. It's pretty easy to figure out where I picked up my biking-bug.
Also, luckily for me, I married a wonderful guy who turned into a great dad who supports and encourages my crazy biking ideas.
I'm so grateful to have these two wonderful dads in my life. I know that with their awesome influence, we're going to have two incredible boys riding on their own adventures very soon.
This is us. We're fun.