It was a February of 1988 when it started. My family lived in the Shenandoah Valley in Northern Virginia, the mild winter and a mandate from the North brought us outside. My younger brother, David, had some physical delays that meant at almost 9 years of age he needed training wheels on his bike. My middle brother, Robert, dangled the offer of "any bicycle he wanted" as a prize to get David moving. David responded with the enthusiasm of vegan offered a steak. I was tasked with teaching my brother, only a year younger than I, how to ride. My Dad worked long hours and was frequently "on call" and my mom never learned to ride a bike having suffered a delicate constitution throughout her childhood. We lived at the bottom of a hill, our driveway split toward the trailer with the other fork leading to a "crick" or creek for those you that don't speak Virginian. This translated to no traffic until Dad came home or the landlady visited.
So I taught my wobbly brother to use the brakes on my little purple bike. David weaved and lurched through the yard, crushing only a few of the landlady's flowers (the tyrant kept track and scolded my mother, who in turn scolded me). Once he could brake, I put him on the hill to get some momentum and eventually he could ride down the hill and through the yard, without killing any daffodils. Mostly because the daffodils were gone and the irises were blooming.
I stationed Mom at the bottom of the hill near a tree (something David was used to avoiding) and David walked the bike up the hill. He came flying at Mom, as she was cheering him on. He missed her and the irises, but nearly went in the creek. It was exciting and Mom thought David did a great job.
Now she wanted to learn. Most grown women would have had a problem trying to ride that bike. It was two years growth too small for me. Mom was only 4'8 at least 4 inches shorter than I was at the time. It would work out great because David was getting a new bike and Mom would ride the purple one... David on one side and I on the other and we walked mom and the bike around the yard. She was wobbly but seemed to be catching on quickly. We had her on the hill within an hour. Going a few feet up the incline with each ride, things were going well. David and I running alongside and coaching her as she went.
I believe Mom was torn between having dinner on the table and being able to show my dad her new skill when he came home. Whatever the catalyst was, she decided she HAD to try from the top of the hill sooner rather than later. Not yet 10 years old I listened to her. David and I knew we wouldn't be able to keep up as she came down that hill. So I would run down the hill and he would run with her in the yard.
We were at the top of the hill, the precipice of a new life where mom could go on bike rides with us. A future where she might ride to the store to get groceries or to visit a neighbor. I can smell the the flowers and the anxiety, while feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. We started, slowly at first. David was out of sight around the bend. I shouted and cheered and ran full speed next to her. It was going great! David had already become distracted. We reached the bottom of the hill where he was supposed to run with her. She flew past him picking the flowers we weren't supposed to touch. Mom was out of control and had no guide. Her fear of water dictated her actions and she veered toward the trailer. I stood helpless, not voiceless screaming for her to stop as the drive towards the trailer was half the length of the planned route toward the creek. Her legs stuck out from the sides of the bike. She was no longer floundering when she crashed full speed into the trailer. The bed of irises and lilies cushioned her impact. Fortunately she was uninjured. The little purple bike was never quite the same however.
Robert was called and told of David's accomplishment. David would be getting a new bike for all his hard work.
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