You Just Never Know, Do You?

A few months ago my mom mentioned to a family friend that I was planning on getting a bicycle when I arrived in Italy. "Well, is she practicing now?" Ummm... no. I mean, how hard can it be if the idiom "it's like riding a bike" means that something is really easy to pick up? A few more people suggested that I go ahead and start riding in America and another family friend loaned me a bike.
So, whoever coined the idiom mentioned above, was not watching me and was definitely taking their life in my hands by walking in front of my oncoming bike.
Dave, my personal expert bike-riding trainer, started me off well. Smooth pavement. Nice park with shading trees. And then up a nice little hill (which I couldn't peddle up) and a little bend to the right and we were in the wilderness. Gravel terrain with big ole loose rocks. Didn't I see little stick cross memorials from where all the bikers had died? The trees reached out to poke my face and my arms and grab a hold of my hair. But, I survived and only a little blood was spilled.
Wait? Wasn't my plan just to ride in Italy to the little market down the street? To language school a mile away? Shouldn't I be practicing on sweet little closed courses where all I had to pay attention to were the birds singing in the trees?
Another time we went to a park that was being developed. This time, Dave researched it. He even watched a youtube video describing it as a perfect place for beginners. That would be me. Well, the real meaning of "a park that is being developed" is that it's undeveloped. There was a little trail that ran through the undevelopedness. Little. Sometimes dirt. Sometimes gravel. Sometimes loose rock.
At one point the trail turned sharply and we found ourselves on a little embankment. It felt like a dam but there was no water anywhere in sight. The trail was about 2 inches wide. OK, I may be exaggerating a little bit. It was about 6 inches wide. If Dave argued that it was a foot wide, I'd fight him on it. Anyway, the point is, that there was a little trail on top of this little dam like thing and I was still a horrible bike rider. I was just about to say, "I can't do this" as I tried to grab hold of a branch to stop the bike. Why wouldn't I just grab onto the breaks? Who knows. The branch did not do it's job and somehow I ended up flipping over to the left. Flipping. Yes. Really. I promise. So I was flipping and laughing.
This was one time I'd like to have a video camera following me. It was one of the most death-defying acts I'd ever performed and no one was there to see it! Dave was in front of me at the time, so by the time he was able to stop his bike and chase down the hill after me, I was already at my twisted resting place. He untangled the bike and my limbs and any of the branches that had hitchhiked for the adventure. He had pure terror on his face. And I could only laugh. What a good story this would make.
I think I'm going to have life-long scars on my right ankle. And I think I really traumatized Dave. From then on, it was only cement trails. But, it all made me a stronger rider. More agile. More in control. More comfortable.
Today I rode my new Italian bike into the center of town. To get there, I had to ride on a busy street that is in major construction. Speedy little Italians rushed by in their speedy little cars, which don't seem so little when you feel like one swirv (yours or theirs) and you'd be a goner. Finally I arrived in the center of town. I do live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It's old Italian as old Italian should be. Cobble stone streets (super bumpy). Marble streets (super slick!). Large blocks of stone streets (jarring!). Tiny, tiny little streets. With all those crazy Italian drivers.
So, I did need all my off-roading, crazy trail training after all. Who knew? I'll give you one guess.