Laur's Blog, Volume 12: Training Wheels

Tinkerbell

In high school, I was asked to write a 3-5 page essay on something that I believed depicted the Anthropocene: the human experience, what life, humanism, and what we’ve made of it mean to me. Then, I’d rate that something. People wrote essays on all kinds of things: candlesticks, spaghetti, etc. I wrote mine about the bicycle. I first alluded to training wheels, wishing I still had them, or at least the balance and stability that they provided. I still remember my first time riding without them. I felt the wind of independence, the breeze of freedom. I felt like I was levitating, flying almost. 

Biking became my favorite activity, besides playing on the swings. I guess I’ve always needed the wind in my face to remind me I’m alive. Feeling the Earth, her breath, brings me back to the present. I loved the swings, jumping off of them; flying in real time. I loved my Tinkerbell bike. My neighbors and I would spend the entire summer riding around the neighborhood. We got into some trouble as kids. 

We were little menaces. We’d bike to make mud pies in the abandoned house at the end of the street. We’d crash into each other for the hell of it. We’d terrorize the little kids, cruising up and down the roads at full speed. I fell off my bike quite often. Each time, I’d scrape or bruise. My skin tore easily. My blood vessels were reactive to impact. The pavement would slice through my tissues. I’d run home, leaving a trail of blood behind me. My knees would always take the hit.

History Repeats

I got back to Charleston a little over a month ago. It took a while to settle in. It’s been difficult trying to navigate campus with a new ankle. Walking on bricks that have been here for centuries. Trying not to tumble down on my way to class. My efforts worked until around a week ago. I had just left art class, and I fell. I was walking with my friend. I had my huge bag on my shoulder, filled with supplies. I must’ve tripped over it, or over the bricks; I’m not sure. All of a sudden, I was on the ground again, and my knees had taken the hit.

I ran home, like I always did, searching for Band-Aids and Neosporin. The smell of Neosporin reminds me of my mother’s care. The pungency of the hydrogen peroxide filled my nostrils before I could apply the cream. I left a trail of blood on my living room floor. I cleaned that up as the hydrogen peroxide bubbled. The Neosporin soothed my scraped, stretchy skin. I threw on big Band-Aids and called it a day.

The Human Machine

The Anthropocene alludes to the significant impact humans have had on our Earth and its systems. If I could define it, I’d describe it as the difference between how we were supposed to live as a species versus what we have made of humanism. Back in the old days, people relied on the stars to sail, on crops for food, and on the world around them. Now, we rely on devices. Computers. Machines to do things for us. The track we have taken has set us behind. In all of this, we have forgotten where we came from, and what we were supposed to be. 

So, I wrote about a bicycle. The bicycle itself is considered both technology and machinery, but at least it hasn’t eliminated the body from the equation. It sped us up, just enough to feel the wind. To glide against the breeze. The mere act of feeling keeps us human. The Earth’s breath reminds me I am in the now. The scrapes on my knees, time and time again, remind me that some things never change; I will always be prone to injury. The smell of Neosporin, the pungency of hydrogen peroxide, brings me to when I had training wheels, someone to lean on. The thought of Tinkerbell puts me back on that damn bike. Swaying in a swing reminds me I am free. Independence is a hard concept to grasp. The Anthropocene is too broad a spectrum to summarize human creation. 

I would personally rank the bicycle at ⅘ stars… Minus a star for the scraped knees.