The Bike Learning Curve

Who doesn’t wish that progress would be a one-way street? That, once one’s child “gets” something—starts talking, asks for a break, reads a word—this is it, learning of just about everything else will follow, and there will never be another need to reteach, and new skill and new skill will follow new skill?

Charlie’s learning of anything has generally followed such a simple pattern. Often he gets some new skill—saying a new word, tapping the ball off the tee in the days when he did the Challenger league—and it then seems as if, try as he might (and he does), he can never say that word, do that thing, again. And so begins a long and often achingly slow process of teaching, and teaching Charlie to remember what to do; of falling down, dusting him and us off, and starting over.

An example of this has been Charlie riding his new bike. It’s a beautiful red and white mountain bike, with a hefty, bigger frame, than the yellow bike Charlie has ridden for two years. The new bike has gears and—after initially riding it home from the bike store—-Charlie has been reluctantly climbing astride it and has usually kept one or both feet on the ground and tiptoe-walked the bike in a manner reminiscent of —Jim’s thought—Barney Rubble.

Slow and steady gets there, right?

Sunday was mild. We all slept in and Jim casually proposed a bike ride. “No bike ride,” said Charlie. The day started looking even nicer, the sun was coming out…..Jim decided to just take the bikes out. At that, Charlie put on his shoes and coat and asked for his helmet but—after running around with a smile (mention of the word “McDonalds” at some point probably helped)—-he frowned once on the bike and did the Barney Rubble thing. I ran after and tried to say encouraging things. At the end of the street, they turned around, Jim’s hand on Charlie’s left shoulder, and Charlie pedaling and concentrating. “How about we ride to McDonald’s?” said Jim. “Yes,” said Charlie. “You look great!” I said.

They went to the other side of town, where Jim called me and noted that, on seeing someone walking a dog, Charlie got off and walked his bike, and then got back on. They rode to a park where some (non-autism related) walk was being held: Jim called to tell me “We made it!” while Charlie went straight for a table of snacks. They rode to McDonald’s: Jim called me to say that he’d sat Charlie near a window with the injunction to guard the bikes (whereupon it occurred to both of us, we’re not sure what Charlie would do or think to say if someone hopped on his bike and started riding off). They took to the streets again, were making a turn, and somehow bumped into each other. Charlie held his bike and kept it from falling, stood, and started crying.

Some windows opened above a pet grooming store and (as Jim related to me) a couple of “biker-type guys in t-shirts” stuck their heads out. “Is the little guy ok?” “Everything ok?” “Do you need some help?” Cars slowed and people rolled down their windows and smiled kindly: “He’s all right? Can I do anything?” Jim was checking boy and bike; ok yes, but a bit shaken from the unexpected jarring. Jim called me and said “Here, talk to Charlie,” and I said into the phone “You’re doing really good, you’re really brave” and Jim decided they’d be able to bike back home.

They pedaled up slowly and both proceeded to look in the refrigerator (Charlie found some frozen paper-wrapped chicken that my mom had left). The rest of the afternoon was peaceful—-Charlie looked through his photos and pulled out some of his first therapists and set them in a special pile. On and off, he put on his shoes, or Jim’s shoes, and ran outside, and went to look at the bikes. Jim proposed a second bike ride and Charlie said no, and yes—at which point, Jim said “let’s go” and I ran to relocate the bike helmets and Charlie’s prism lens glasses (which he only wears for bike riding). This time there was no Barney Rubble-ing it: Charlie started peddling with both feet down the street. They rode off, sort of in the direction of the sunset and came back after 45 minutes, and after Charlie had gotten off his bike and stated walking it—-one way to say, this biking thing is great, but it’s time to go home!.

Educating Charlie means we’ve got a lot to learn ourselves.