As I was driving my thirteen year old daughter down to Disneyland on Saturday, my ten year old daughter was embarking on the ride of a lifetime: her first long ride down “The Strand” from Manhattan Beach to Venice Beach on her own bike with her father. She rides around the neighborhood a bit, firmly strapped into the black helmet, but she has never attempted 10 miles, let alone the 20 miles it ended up being there and back.

When I met them for lunch in Venice, she was so full of accomplishment and strength, and yes, a little tired, too. I started to reminisce about my own days on my yellow three speed Schwinn, which, when I was my daughter’s age, embarrassed me because it matched my parents’ bikes. All three of us had the bright yellow bikes, and thankfully we didn’t ride them everywhere together. I remember the first feelings of freedom as I rode my neighborhood back in New Jersey, down to the pool or over to Madison (that meant crossing a big road). And I remember one particularly steep hill on a street lined with ancient trees from the times of George Washington that scared me every time I went down it—it gave me that same feeling you get on a roller coaster when you can’t hold on. When I was brave enough I went down it No hands.

Back in the 70s we didn’t wear helmets, we rode alone, and we rode everywhere and far. We had no cell phones to call home if we fell, often depending on strangers for a bandage or a glass of water. Having a bike as a tween or a teen meant freedom.

My daughters only have a little of that. We live in a small but busy beach side town, and because so few people actually pay attention to what they are doing when they are driving, the kids on bikes have to be REALLY careful. But get them going on their bikes and you see smiles and sheer joy, and you witness them test out the freedom that we all felt riding our bikes as kids.

Ellen Regenstreif, is the owner of ChildTours (www.childtours.com), a travel consultancy where she helps families stay sane by planning their trip itineraries.

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