Balancing Act and bombs

Our youngest granddaughter recently turned two and we decided to buy her a bike. No, not a trike thingy, but a real, two wheels with training wheels bike. The family enjoys a good cycle around the lake near their home and hopefully the bike will last for a few years and transition into a real balancing act. As I watched the grandkids on their bikes, I felt quite sad. Yes, I am balance challenged. I never really learned to ride a bike and now am unable to get my muscles to remember the movements to get me mobile. A few years ago we went to a holiday facility that had bikes for loan. Our two friends thought it might be a good idea to see the beautiful scenery from the back of one of these contraptions. Little did they know that I had no idea how to ride. I did try. I got on the back of the bike, positioned the pedals at just the right angle. I mean, come on, I have watched thousands of people ride. How hard could it be? But as soon as I lifted my second foot off the ground .... I just toppled over like a felled oak tree. Whump onto the driveway. My kind husband offered to hold the bike till I got my second foot in place. Second try was as bad as the first, more whumps. Then my dear darling

suggested we give me a bit of momentum and start from the top of the driveway. "By the time you put your foot on the pedal the bike will be moving forward and it won't be so difficult." Mmmmm well bigger whump at speed and nice big bruise blossoming on my hip. My friend then said that perhaps we should just walk. The two men said "Great idea." and took off on their bikes, leaving us to stroll to the shops to ease my embarassement with retail therapy. You might be forgiven to think that I do not have cycling genes in my family tree. But you would be wrong. Great Granpa Alf was the cycle champion of his area in about 1900. He would take his Pennyfarthing bike on races all around Britain. Alf was a roofer and was pretty fit. He was even able to balance on his bike while totally trolleyed with alcohol. He would ride his Pennyfarthing down to the pub on a Saturday night, along with his pet pig and goose and fiddle strapped to his back .... and proceed to imbibe till he was totally drunk. The locals would line the road to watch as Alf would wobble his way down the street perched on his vehicle heading homeward, with an equally drunk goose and pig who would burp their way down the road. Okay, all you representatives of RSPCA, this was way before people knew enough to be careful with what their pets ate or drank. Alf had no real reason to go to the pub as his wife was known for her potent elderberry wine which tasted like lemonade but was lethal enough to blow the top of your head off. So if Alf could balance on the top of this Pennyfarthing in his compromised state of being, why did I miss out on those particular genes. Oh and of course I have no clue how to play the fiddle either.

When I was young my parents thought I might benefit from a few gymnastic classes. Maybe a turn or two on the parallel bars would sort out my balance issues. I turned up to the class in the local church hall with high hopes. Imagining myself doing all sorts of amazing feats. Walking on my hands, flying through the air on the rings or even being able to do a graceful cartwheel or two. The tutor said that we should all line up in front of the horse. You know the type of thing? Huge leather covered, solid as a rock, mountain of a thing. I ran, I reached up with my hands, placed them firmly on the horse..... and wham I landed with my stomach right in the middle. Feet flailing madly behind me, hands flapping madly in front. The horse was actually taller than I was and I felt very vulnerable. The tutor had to yank me off to save me. Apparently I just needed to try harder. One more long, longer than last time, run. Jump and yay, I was over the horse. And flying face first towards certain doom. The mat hit me square on the forehead and I saw stars. Not good stars either, but rather, very painful stars. Maybe I would do better on the parellel bars? No, not my forte either. I later tried skate boarding, not too bad at that. And ice-skating.... managed to stay vertical for that. I suggested to my husband after the bike riding fiasco, that I buy some training wheels for a bike some kind person had given me. But his look of distress put me off that idea. No biking for me then!

Next week is Armistice day on 11 November. I always remember my Dad at this time and recently our daughter in law asked if he had ever spoken about his war time experiences. Well, no. Not much. In fact I can count on my one hand the times he even mentioned his service overseas. But I do remember him saying that he had been excited to be chosen to be the radio operator on a commando raid to Greece. It would have been his first time using a parachute. And plus Greece was definitely on his bucket list .. if a 17 year old boy could say he had a bucket list. But sadly, just off the coast of Italy near Trieste the plane was hit by gunfire and what with damage and injured commandos, they turned for home. Dad said he was quite envious when Ernie arrived back from the raid with stories of daring do and dramatic acts of courage. Later Dad was moved to England where he was radio operator on the planes that did air drops to Warsaw. Did you know that there were two crack squadrons of Polish airmen who took part in the Battle of Britain and without their input, the battle could have gone badly wrong for the Allies? Anyhow, back to the Warsaw air drops. The English people weren't too keen on the Poles because they thought they should have fought harder to withstand Hitler at the beginning of the war. One of my Dad's cousins married a Polish air man and he felt that his family would be better off if he dropped his foreign name and adopt her name instead. Yes, xenophobia is alive and well no matter where you live. My Dad felt quite proud of his service to this beleagured country, and felt that he had finished his war service on a high note. So for all those folks who fought to keep the world free of tyranny, we salute you. Without your efforts we would all be singing a whole different tune. And not a pleasant tune either. Maybe a dirge?

I am off for a jaunt tomorrow and Saturday. But come Monday I think I should seriously look at training wheels for my bike. Or maybe even a trike? Why should I let my balance challenges stop me from getting out and about? No, I shall stand against tyranny just like my Dad did and channel the genes of Alf to help me. No, I do not plan on getting drunk, but hopefully my efforts will end up better than a face plant into a mat, or a whump onto a driveway. What do you think folks? Should I go for it?