Ironman, here I come

I learned how to ride a bike this weekend. I don't mean I learned how to race, or how to clip in with cycling shoes, or how to work the gears on a mountain bike. I mean I learned how to not fall over while making the bike go forward -- what the rest of the world learns at approximately the age of five. I think I was the only adult Chinese person on the planet who didn't know how to ride a bike.

No one actually believes me when I tell them I can't ride a bike because, after all, I spin. A lot. When I take spinning classes with teachers who don't know me, they inevitably come up to me after class to ask which group I ride with. (I do hill climbs particularly nicely, thank you very much, Versus.)

The last time I tried learning how to ride a bike, my friend rented a bike and took me down to the pier by Chelsea Piers. I tried pedaling (and falling over) several times before getting impatient and strapping on my rollerblades -- a far more successful endeavor. The icing on the cake was when a man in a wheelchair -- he'd been observing me fall repeatedly -- offered some tips. You know you're doing a terrific job riding a bike when you need advice from someone who can't walk.

A couple years ago I signed up for the Nautica-New York City Triathlon, hoping that the race (by which I mean the exorbitant race fee) would force me to learn how to ride. I ended up losing the entrance fee. Finally, sidelined by plantar fasciitis, I decided it was now or never.

I looked up Terry Chin, who's been written up multiple times in The New York Times for his riding lessons for adults. Saturday morning, I met up with my class. Aside from the fact that Terry really gets a kick out of making fun of you -- *exactly* what an adult who doesn't know how to ride a bike is looking for -- the two-hour lesson ended with me (and most of the rest of the class) riding out of Riverside Park.

Sunday, I decided to attempt Central Park, which was possibly not the best idea for my second day on a bike, but I figured, why not aim high? After several false starts (and many startled pedestrians), I was up and running (so to speak). Voila:

You may be wondering why exactly I require a helmet to ride at the bone-chilling speed of five miles an hour, but in the words of my colleague, "It's better to look like a fruit than end up a vegetable."