I could feel the heat on my back and the wind in my ears. I was feeling many things, joy from accomplishing a goal, caution from crashing, and most of all, excitement in my heart. I could also feel my leg muscles aching, and my hands blistering from holding the rubber too tightly for so long. I had been riding for almost two hours already, but I wasn't ready to stop just yet.

    It started with laughter. I could hear it, all around me, from my siblings. I could hear my little sister shouting, “Let’s go, let’s go!” My sister was seven at the time, and I was ten. She was a young girl, with long black hair, a chubby face and dark brown eyes like a chocolate muffin with chocolate chips. And I? I was a young boy who loved to smile, had polite manners, and black hair with light brown eyes like hot chocolate. We both loved to wear shorts, flip flops, and baggy shirts, like our older siblings.

It was a hot summer day, with the sun shining on my black hair at noon. My parents had just bought new bikes for my little sister and I, and we were so eager to learn how to use them. We took our bikes out and walked them across the old, black street. We decided to practice on the other sidewalk, since there was more space. As I walked, I felt the rubber on the handlebars. The bikes were nothing special, but they were our first bikes.
I watched my sister get on her bike. My dad held onto the back of the seat to keep her steady while she pushed the pedals. When he let go, she rode for a few seconds, and wobbled, then fell. My dad rushed over to help her, but she was okay. After a few tries, she got it. My dad said the trick was, "If you look down, you're gonna go down. Look at where you want to go."

    When my mom tried to help me the same way my dad helped my little sister, it didn't work as well. My bike would always tip over after she let go, even if I was looking up. I felt the pavement against my skin. I could feel the scratches I had on my hands and knees. I was feeling frustrated, frustrated that I couldn't learn how to ride a bike. My sister was 3 years younger than me and she learned how to ride a bike after a few tries.

    When my mom asked my older brother to teach me, he gladly accepted. My brother, Timmy, was four years older than me, and had learned to ride a bike on his own. So naturally, he showed me how to ride a bike like he learned how to. I liked his way of teaching. He took me to a nearby DMV, which had a pathway just right to learn how to ride a bike. He didn't physically help me at all, but told me to just go along the pathway with him. He told me to look up, and start with a strong first pedal. On my second try, I got it! I was scared of falling down since it was a windy path, but I eventually learned.

    Timmy was smiling, and so was I. I didn't say, "Thank you," or anything like that. Our bond was strong enough that he could tell I was grateful to him for teaching me how to ride a bike. I wanted to ride my bike more, and I also wanted to show my parents that I could ride one. My brother took off down the street, yelling, "Follow me!" I did. I still couldn't ride in a straight line, but that was okay. I followed him through streets, going around in circles for hours.

    I could feel the heat on my back and the wind in my ears. The sun was setting, and when I looked behind me, I saw the stars and the moon ready to take place. Timmy was biking alongside me, with old jeans and old shoes, a baggy shirt and sweat on his face. My hands hurt, my legs ached, but the smile on my face was pure. When I returned home, day had turned into night, and dinner was ready.