<p>I was a pro at riding bicycle right from my schooldays, using a hand-me-down bicycle belonging to my sister. However, humiliation hit me one morning when I was pedalling via the Russell Market route from Fraser Town to RC College of Commerce, with my pile of books clipped on to the carrier! Somewhere in the bylanes near Broadway, somebody from out of the blue, shot across my path and bang crash we dashed and that threw me off balance, resulting in me and my bicycle flying onto the ground in one direction, and my books scattering and handbag landing in another!</p>.<p>Fortunately this incident occurred during the late '60s, when traffic was thin with fewer autos and far fewer cars. In no time, I picked up my dishevelled, embarrassed teenaged self and with a little help from the kindly bystanders, I continued on my way.</p>.<p>Bicycle riding was part of our upbringing and I've cycled to and from hockey practice, then on to Nilgiris for a gratis glass of cold milk while readying as a member of the Mysore Women’s team for the Nationals; to college and back; and even as far as Hosakerehalli on picnics, encountering rugged, uneven mud roads, taking quite a few spills there too...good fun! I'd ride one even today but arthritis does not permit.</p>.<p>Harking back to the past, once I had moved to riding a scooter, I remember borrowing my brother Peter’s Lambretta, and taking off early one morning with a tennis racquet tucked upright between the handle bar and my seat. However, my tennis venture was short-lived. As I rode out waving bye to Dad who was pottering around the garden, ‘crash bang’ I went again, trying to save the slipping racquet. This time I toppled into the gutter and the racquet didn’t live to see my masterstroke smash in tennis. Sad.</p>.<p>Dad, of course, was there in a jiffy, having heard the noise of my toss. Can’t remember if the bike was bruised too, but my brother generously took it in his stride, avoiding admonishments. In fact, in later years he’d permit me to drive his Ambassador car which was another tough vehicle to handle -- with stiff gears and foot controls that needed strong leg muscles. </p>.<p>In 1991, I qualified as a person with disability, for a Maruti 800 with automatic gears. It was a dream to drive in Bengaluru traffic. In 1999, I quit driving, when my hand mobility decreased and made it tough to manoeuvre the steering wheel. The only wheels I use now are those of walkers and wheelchairs, but still go places!</p>
<p>I was a pro at riding bicycle right from my schooldays, using a hand-me-down bicycle belonging to my sister. However, humiliation hit me one morning when I was pedalling via the Russell Market route from Fraser Town to RC College of Commerce, with my pile of books clipped on to the carrier! Somewhere in the bylanes near Broadway, somebody from out of the blue, shot across my path and bang crash we dashed and that threw me off balance, resulting in me and my bicycle flying onto the ground in one direction, and my books scattering and handbag landing in another!</p>.<p>Fortunately this incident occurred during the late '60s, when traffic was thin with fewer autos and far fewer cars. In no time, I picked up my dishevelled, embarrassed teenaged self and with a little help from the kindly bystanders, I continued on my way.</p>.<p>Bicycle riding was part of our upbringing and I've cycled to and from hockey practice, then on to Nilgiris for a gratis glass of cold milk while readying as a member of the Mysore Women’s team for the Nationals; to college and back; and even as far as Hosakerehalli on picnics, encountering rugged, uneven mud roads, taking quite a few spills there too...good fun! I'd ride one even today but arthritis does not permit.</p>.<p>Harking back to the past, once I had moved to riding a scooter, I remember borrowing my brother Peter’s Lambretta, and taking off early one morning with a tennis racquet tucked upright between the handle bar and my seat. However, my tennis venture was short-lived. As I rode out waving bye to Dad who was pottering around the garden, ‘crash bang’ I went again, trying to save the slipping racquet. This time I toppled into the gutter and the racquet didn’t live to see my masterstroke smash in tennis. Sad.</p>.<p>Dad, of course, was there in a jiffy, having heard the noise of my toss. Can’t remember if the bike was bruised too, but my brother generously took it in his stride, avoiding admonishments. In fact, in later years he’d permit me to drive his Ambassador car which was another tough vehicle to handle -- with stiff gears and foot controls that needed strong leg muscles. </p>.<p>In 1991, I qualified as a person with disability, for a Maruti 800 with automatic gears. It was a dream to drive in Bengaluru traffic. In 1999, I quit driving, when my hand mobility decreased and made it tough to manoeuvre the steering wheel. The only wheels I use now are those of walkers and wheelchairs, but still go places!</p>