One for the Road: My Unicycle

I dug my uni out from the back corner of the garage. The tire was flat. It was caked in cobwebs.

But I'd set a goal for myself at the beginning of summer to ride the beast again. Summer was waning. Time was short.
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I learned to ride a unicycle eight years ago. It took me hours upon hours to learn: I am not well-coordinated, but I am determined.

I developed enough skill to ride for a half-mile on the paved trail near Brayton, but I never learned to start without holding onto a wall or brace of some sort. I got good enough to enjoy it, but never without fear.

Then.

The crash.

I was riding on the trail one afternoon when I met two bicyclists headed the other way.

"You lost a wheel!" one shouted good-naturedly.

I laughed. But I also lost my concentration. I went down hard, skinning an elbow and messing up my knee.

Not only was unicycling off-limits, I couldn't even go for a run while the knee healed.

I decided my unicycling days were done.
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But over the eight years of riding, I'd claimed a unicycling identity. It was part of my persona, who I see myself as. The longer I didn't ride, the fainter that part of me became. 

So I set the goal.

And two weeks ago, I got back on that buckin' bronco. 

And guess what? I can still ride. I always wear a helmet, but I also wore kneepads and rode on the bridge, where I could grab the railing if needed. 

My first attempts were scary as my muscle memory reached way back to find that balance above a single wheel. 

I took my wheel back out again on Saturday and was able to ride the full length of the bridge. 

I'm not getting older.
I'm getting better.