YOUTHFULNESS: After All These Years - Don't Wait Until you're 95 to Re-Enjoy Biking

How old was my Grandma Lila? Ninety-something - I’m not quite sure. Underneath her gentle smile, there was a melancholic tone in her voice as she recalled, “I haven’t ridden a bike for more than a decade.” “Grandma,” I smiled, “I can give you a ride!” Her gentle smile shifted to slight confusion – not the reaction I was hoping for. I explained that I had used a bike trailer - the kind that you pull a two-year-old in – to haul groceries and even home remodeling supplies that were much heavier than she was. “Would you like to take a ride?!” I inquired, my grin growing. She hesitated.

I assured her we wouldn’t go too fast. Grandma tended to worry. She replied, “I think I would like that.”

Then it was just the question of where and when. We would be in the woods of central Wisconsin together with 25 mph roads in a few weeks – ideal for taking Grandma on her first ride in years.

When we arrived at the House Up North, she asked right away, “Did you bring the trailer?” I paused, slightly caught off guard. “We don’t have to go if you forgot to bring it.” Always thoughtful of others, she was trying to hide her enthusiasm. “Of course, I brought it! When do you want to go?” I asked eagerly. We decided to go tomorrow afternoon.

My dad was the biggest roadblock. Worried about his mother, he must have told me a dozen times, “Ben, I’m not sure this is a good idea.” And he had a valid point. Nevertheless, I put this in the same category as Grandma’s sweet tooth getting dessert whenever it wanted. In your 90’s, certain privileges apply. Grandma wanted to ride a bike, and the bike trailer was as close as she could get.

It took a couple people to gently lower her onto the pillow we had placed on top of the 6’ deep seat. The struggle to keep her in place was not the omen I wanted as we started. Additionally, her artificial knee didn’t bend very well so her stiff legs extended outside of the trailer. We precariously propped them up on the bar that attached to the bike frame.

Like anyone her age, her 5’6” frame had shrunk considerably. Still, when she sat down on a seat that was made for someone much smaller than her, she was much too large, and we had to place another pillow behind her because she was just tall enough that the top bar would hit her head otherwise.

Although I was warm in a long-sleeve t-shirt, I recall Grandma wearing at least two coats.

“Which direction do you want to go? If we go to the right, it’s flatter, and if we go to the left, there are some hills,” I told her. Never a big risk-taker, yet adventurous, her reply was as expected: “I suppose the flatter path.” We headed down the road, not pedaling very fast. I was wondering if she would like it, and, admittedly, I was now echoing my father’s voice in my head, thinking, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“How far down the road do you want to go?”

“Well, at least until the next road.” It was a cul-du-sac, the perfect turnaround. The oaks and pines that lined the road were the perfect backdrop. As we circled back to the house, I couldn’t help thinking to myself that the half mile we rode was hardly worth the effort. We chatted as we rode back about how long it had been since she had felt the wind in her hair while riding.

Perhaps Grandma recalled riding a motorcycle during World War II to deliver the mail. Upon arriving back at the little red house, she asked as more of a command, “We’re going to keep going, right?” I reminded her that this direction had more hills, to which she smiled, “That’s okay.”

Family friends lived almost a mile down the road in the other direction, so we chose that as our destination. My concerns now gone, knowing that Grandma was enjoying it so much, I pedaled more freely. After going slightly faster downhill, she reminded me, “Now not too fast!” Our friends were already outside when we arrived.

While decades ago bike rides together were frequent, Grandma surprised our friends today.

We chatted briefly before heading home, and not more than three pedal strokes in, Grandma invited me to “Go a little fast like we did on the way here.”

After all those years, I’m not quite sure what it felt like for Grandma to take that ride, but I am sure it was a great idea!