Learning to ride - smooth and silky and a little bit muddy.

Sad really, at age 41, to have to confess to not knowing how to ride a bike, but there it is people, my secret shame. My only experience on a two wheeled vehicle is the bike my sisters Slim and Musty bought me when I was six. It had cool handlebars and daggy training wheels. I rode it up and down the driveway all afternoon, only to have it confiscated by my over-protective and controlling mother that very evening.

Gone. Never to be seen, heard or spoken of again.

Musty believes the bike was given away to a neighbour. My only proof of its existence - a grainy black and white photo of a pig-tailed me posed on it on the concrete slab that was our back yard.

For years I have had a love-hate relationship with cyclists. On one hand, I resent their carefree spirit and lithe bodies and on the other hand I respect their nerves of steel and uber-fitness. I am also fascinated by the infinite variety of bikes on the road and have been known to share in the "fixies" vs "non-fixies" debate with more learned bike riders...

I've always wondered what it would be like to ride. And no, a spinning bike at the gym doesn't count.

It wasn't until quite recently, when Silky Karpitz (an uber-jock-chick since childhood) proposed we do a triathlon that I had to confess I didn't know how to ride a proper bike.

Several kind (and very shocked) people offered advice - Berber Recliner, for one, offered me his road bike (with cleats, whatever the fuck they are) and a how-to tutorial; Red Karpitz offered me his mountain bike. But it was Patton Karpitz who struck gold with his suggestion that I should try learning on one of those blue rental bikes. His reason: they're heavy and slow, designed for both genders and all levels - essentially built for safety and comfort, NOT performance.

Perfect for a neurotic newbie like me.

Silky jumped on the suggestion. Before I knew it, I was locked into a lesson at Albert Park Lake - the blue bike station at the Melbourne Sports and Aquatic Centre (MSAC) to be precise - on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Silky as teacher. Muddy as documenter. Red's trusty grey helmet for protection.

Muddy took care of the bike hire, helped me and Silky extricate our bikes from the racks, and then walk them onto the grassy spot next to the car park. Silky handed me a pair of riding gloves in case "you tumble off and scrape the shit out of your palms trying to break your fall."

People, if I was a little bit frightened before, I was positively terrified now.

And yet, and yet...

Before Silky could tell me what to do, I somehow hoiked myself up onto the seat, chucked my feet on the pedals, gave them a push and took off. I wobbled for a few seconds and thought I would topple, but some latent instinct or obscure muscle memory kept me upright and in motion.

And boy was I in motion.

“Keep pedalling fast to keep yourself steady!” shouted Silky. But there was no need for instruction. I was off riding my middle-aged heart out. For the next ten minutes I dodged and wove through the big trees, hugged the edges of the grassy knoll and even rode the little hills before coming to a stop next to a stunned Silky and Muddy.

It felt GREAT.

Silky took me out on the paths adjoining MSAC for a short ride, to practice braking, using the gears and ringing the bell. Then, much to my surprise, Muddy decided to join us on our little jaunt (after much prompting – that is, bullying - from Silky). He rented a helmet and a bike and off we went, a cheery threesome, riding single file around Albert Park Lake. The experience was wonderful. Liberating. Sunny, with just a light wind and minimal traffic on Lakeside Drive to navigate.

20 minutes later, breathless from the experience (but not the workout – those bikes are EASY) we were back at the stand, planning a short ride to our coffee and cake reward at Carousel. But they were shut. Buggers.

Nevertheless, we bade our daggy blue bikes a fond farewell and went to Republic on St Kilda beach for a coffee and restorative carbs and some back-slapping and high-fiving. Awse.

Triathlons are fine, but there’s a whole world out there that can only be explored on two wheels and I cannot wait to discover them.