My daughter and I learned how to bike in the summer of 1984. She was 7 and I was 32, so I learned first, and then I spent another month pushing her bike and catching her (and her bike) when she lost her balance. My quick biking progress made me sure of my athletic abilities, and despite the fact that I didn’t do any biking between that summer and the time I moved to Columbia in the summer of 1991, I began my new American life by buying a used bike and riding along the MKT trail.

I did a lot of walking, too: for one thing, I never drove a car in my hometown Moscow, Russia, so passing a driver’s exam with very little driving practice – and my broken English – was extremely difficult. Well, it would have been difficult had I actually attempted to listen to my examiner. Instead, I somehow persuaded him that it was not my English that mattered, but my driving ability, so if he just showed me which way to turn, I would be fine. Amazingly, he did just that, and I passed my driver exam on the first try (little did he know that even today I have problems distinguishing right from left ).

In any case, between biking and walking I got myself in pretty good shape, and I even began passing some people on the trail. I did so well that when I began dating my American husband-to-be, the very first time we biked together, I quickly left him behind in the dust. Not for long, mind you, just for five minutes or so. Still, those five minutes impressed him so much that he quickly decided to marry me, and we soon found ourselves biking together along Katy Trail.
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