Last week I told you about the time I fell up the stairs in front of like everyone at college. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little better knowing y’all have experienced something similar. Us clumsy ladies have to stick together. So you know how people say, “It’s like riding a bike, you don’t forget.” Well, you do forget and here’s the story to prove it.

When I was a kid, I used to ride my bike everywhere. To and from school, around the lake in my neighborhood, to my friend’s houses, you name it. I loved riding my bike. Sure, I had some tumbles but what kid didn’t? I was actually pretty good at riding my bike and could even do the no-hands-feet-on-handlebars trick.

Then when I hit 10 and transferred schools further away, my bike and I broke up. I didn’t need it anymore, and I had other extracurricular activities.

Let’s skip into the future to the summer before my senior year of high school. My dad went on this huge biking kick. He loved it. I love hanging out with my dad, so this was a good opportunity for us to do something fun together. We made plans to go one morning. At 7 am.

I mistakenly spent the night at a friend’s house and had to get up at 6:30 to drive home. I was exhausted and did not want to go on a 7-mile bike ride. But I promised my dad I would go, so I did. Now, he had been doing this 7-mile bike trail for a few weeks. I had never been on this trail before. I also hadn’t ridden a bike in 8 years.

My neighborhood has a large hill at the entrance that my dad rode down with ease. I did an EFF THAT and walked my bike down. We got onto the path. Excuse me, we got onto the GRAVEL path. Let’s keep in mind that gravel is ground up rocks, shall we?

I was trailing slightly behind my dad when a tree just came out of nowhere and assaulted my bike. The run-in with that tree wasn’t so bad. I say “that tree” because about 10.4 seconds later, I ran into another tree but this time I fell over. So I’m just lying on the ground with this bike on top of me with my dad riding off into the distance.

When he realized I wasn’t behind him, he turned around to see me just chillin’ with a bike on me. I believe he called me a “doofus,” which is one of his favorite words for my goofy self. I managed to get back up and complete the trek with my dad, but I wasn’t happy. I think I’m the one person who managed to prove that you can indeed forget how to ride a bike.

For the record, I eventually got the hang of it and ended up going on frequent bike rides with my dad for the summer. I guess I was just a little rusty.

Have you ever fallen off a bike? What’s your worst biking story? Tell me in the comments!

Are you as clumsy as me?

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