Why I Pedal: How Bikes Transform Lives and Build Community | Don’s Story

It was dusk at the end of a Connecticut cul-de-sac set back in the woods, at one of the many places I called home with my nomadic family in the late 90s. Put yourself there: humid east coast evening, air thick with mosquitos and the remnants of an afternoon rain – the dog days of summer. A red huffy bike with coaster brakes and an old foam helmet.

I had gotten it into my head that I needed to learn how to ride a bike, and the only person that was going to teach me was me. 

So I had dad pull the training wheels off and I went for it. I remember using a worn out wooden fence in the driveway to get started on each attempt. A few pedal strokes, wobble, shaky catch. Didn’t trust it yet. A few falls, nothing serious. I told my parents to go inside. I didn’t want them to see me fail. They watch from the window, of course. 

What felt like hours went by. About as much focus as a 5-year-old could muster up. I believe the 2026 term for such a thing might be “locked in” or “flow state.” At the time, though, it was just me and my stubborn concentration and the crickets and the birds in the dying midsummer light.

Suddenly and without warning, I was riding. Those puzzle pieces of balance and brain and body had unconsciously slid into place. I was rolling in cramped circles around that driveway in the dark. I remember just being so proud and happy. To ride a bicycle is such a joy, at any age.

It was the start of a lifelong love affair with the bicycle. I didn’t know that moment would be the precursor to so many unforgettable experiences involving rolling, human-powered freedom machines. That I’d ride a Wal-Mart mountain bike through the bayous of Baton Rouge, Louisiana to class in grad school, sometimes by choice, sometimes by car breakdown. Or that I’d ride to and from work across all the bridges in Boston through frigid winters. I’d ride my bike around Lake Tahoe in a day, and 100 miles to 10 different Costcos in Utah, on Ventura Highways to Ojai, to concerts and campgrounds and countless other misadventures. 

I’d discover mountain biking and its magnetic pull would send me all over the world… from steep skidders of Squamish, BC to the deepwoods of Kingdom Trails, Vermont, the Whole Enchilada in all of its bone-shaking glory in Moab, to the dusty shale of southern Wyoming, Arkansas, Oregon, and on and on and on…

And the people! You wouldn’t believe the people you’d meet and the places you’d meet them on a bike. How getting lost on a foolhardy ride in the desert night with your best friends could make you forget about a failed engagement or your particular brand of mental illness for a while – or how that classic “we should get a ride in sometime!” can signal the start of a lifelong friendship. I swear I’ve gone from strangers to lifelong friends on one 10-mile ride with some folks. There’s just that special magic about being in the right place (on a bike, anywhere) with the right people.

There’s a quote I often come back to, attributed to Diane Ackerman:

“When I’m on a bicycle the world is breaking someone else’s heart.”

How could it be summed up better?

Biking has transformed my life – it has grown with me through each season of my existence, and will for as long as I’m lucky enough to be alive. In my work with Wasatch Adaptive Sports, I’ve seen bikes serve as a crucial vehicle for empowerment and independence, social bonding and family unification. I’ve also seen it bring out that silliness and joy – true giggle fits in some cases – for people and families that are going through or have been through incredibly challenging disability journeys. 

Attempts to sum up that special, lighthearted experience of the bicycle often fall short in words. But when I try, I think back to that humid Connecticut evening. My hand lets go of the safety of the fence, and I’m flying again. My legs churn, I resist the urge to stick out a leg to catch me. The biggest, goofiest smile comes over my face as I complete my first 10-foot circle around the driveway, then another, then another. I laugh audibly, I circle like this for what feels like hours, enjoying the freedom and the thrill of discovery of a new skill. 

That’s why I pedal: for the childlike joy of it. And that’s why I work for WAS: so that everyone has the opportunity to access that joy, regardless of age, ability, income, or demographic. I pedal because movement is a human right.

Biking may not be central to your world. In fact, it may have been years since you’ve ridden one. But it’s an undeniable fact that riding a bike is a rite of passage in so many ways: to learn and challenge, to capture a unique childlike wonder that never leaves you – from your first ride to your last. The next time you’re about to roll out on a bike – and I challenge you to create an opportunity to do so if it has been a while – take a moment to think about your first ride if you can remember it. The modern world is so convincing of its seriousness and urgency. Too many of us lose that youthful lightness and gleam in our eyes that are inherent in the act of riding a bicycle. Make a pact with yourself to find that simple joy, follow it, nurture it. It’s still there – all you have to do is dust off the memory.

Then, let go of the fence. 

– Don