The transition from three wheels to two – from trike to bike – is a rite of passage not only for children but also for parents: the world awaits your child, but how much of it can he (or she) handle without you along for the ride? A child with a bike is like a teen with a car: on his own, independently mobile, free at last.

Fortunately, while not yet old enough to drive a car, your 6-12-year-old is precisely old enough to develop the sense of responsibility for himself and for others that he’ll need for the final liberation of driving. It’s at this stage, well before adolescence, that young children lay the foundation for the freedom of adulthood, often with the help of a bicycle. A bike is a child’s ideal means for going farther and faster than feet alone. Riding a two-wheeler offers access to new trials and errors, and happily to experiences with full potential for building sound judgment.

Better for parents to structure this transition carefully, with limits for exploration gradually expanding, than to wait until there’s nothing to do but set rules that beg to be broken. In other words, if a bike is a tool of exploration for your child, then it is also your tool for learning to let go.

Back In My Day…

I remember wobbling along on training wheels until they broke, and my brother took pliers to them, and I managed to wend my way without them. That day I realized that all I had to do was look straight ahead, – forget the wobblies! – and I was free. It was, like, just do it, you can! and not far then to showing off ("Look, Mom, one hand!"), to hands-free coasting down the big hill near home, not to mention seeing how far up that hill I could pump without having to walk.

For me and my peers, bike riding was a marvelous exercise in managing freedom, especially because once we’d learned to watch out for cars Mom and Dad didn’t see much reason to worry – we lived out in the country, so I could ride as far as I wanted and turn back home when I was ready, decisions I made without adult help. Probably even more than starting school (always a matter of adapting to someone else’s system), riding a bike offered thorough independence. On your bike you grew by facing life on your own terms. How far could you ride? What sights would you see? How long might you be out there on your own, exploring – and thus conquering – the wider world?

From the time I was in third grade we lived at a lake. Our street, a long dirt road, ended at the local equivalent of a highway, although cars there were still infrequent. My best friend Barbara lived on the other side of the lake, and our school lay halfway between, down the road from the beach, to all of which I had to transport myself, as my father took the family car to work. I rode my bike to school, usually with friends but sometimes not. In winter I rode across the ice-covered lake. One summer, Barbara, upset because her father had beaten her dog, asked me to run away with her to an abandoned house we'd found on Highway 202. We went, but I didn’t stay. Another friend and I rode our bikes at least ten miles from home one autumn Saturday, just exploring, not getting home until suppertime. I don't think my parents had any idea we'd gone so far; I certainly never spoke of it to mine, and I doubt that she told hers. Although not yet 11, we had covered a broad environment, from neighborhood to town to much of the county.

In contrast, babies, toddlers and preschoolers are limited to their immediate environment. They learn to climb stairs, sit at the table, brush their teeth, etc. These are not intellectual challenges. In their performance children have few actual choices to make – and no complex decisions because you, the parent, control all outcomes: the kids are in the house or the yard, you see what they do and don’t do, and that’s that. An attentive parent can note the source of a problem and nip it in the bud.

But, while we do teach children the rudiments of decision making (“Would you like to read a book before your bath or afterward?” “If you want desert, you have to eat your dinner first,”), we may have little say in important decisions a child typically has to make between the ages of six and twelve. These are fundamental questions such as what makes a good friend? how strong am I? what’s safe and what’s not? and what, really, is a lie? For these, a child needs solid preparation – and then the opportunity to make his own decision.

When parents do have input with this age group, the payoff is significant, as it is the preadolescent, far more than the adolescent, who creates the adult. By the time a child is 12 years old, he or she has already acquired the underpinnings for the final product we call adulthood.

Thinking back on all the freedom I had, it was more than I wanted. I’d have been happy to be driven through or past those places that, in truth, felt spooky to me – the end of the street, the nearby highway, and the empty-seeming neighborhoods between my house and the beach, the school, and Barbara on the other side of the lake. But I wasn't: my parents stayed in the house while I played outdoors. My mother taught me manners, how to play the piano, and over many years, how to write, but she never played baseball or rode bikes with me. Nor did my father, who was always working. I think I’d have welcomed their participation, but the thought just never occurred to any of us. My parents had moved the family out of the city to a place where they felt my brother and I could play safely, and so they let us play.

Alone as we were, we were lucky. No one tried to kidnap or molest us – we rode with impunity wherever we chose. Traffic was light then and drugs not an issue, but for most of the country, that’s all changed now. What limits should parents set when today’s children are ready to ride? Here are some thoughts.

Good Judgment Starts Subtly

I’m a grandmother now, living a continent away from my grandkids. Given my level of hindsight, though, I think I would recommend parents begin by setting parameters in a short family meeting. Your daughter is ready to ride; where can she go, and what issues will define each step of her way to two-wheel independence?

How about getting together as a family to draw a map of the neighborhood and working from that? This should establish the rides she feels ready for now, as well as hint at others to follow – places she might like to have a parent along. Deep down, her wanting your company is her way of telling you that she needs you; responding positively lets you explain, clarify, warn or restrict, whether temporarily or permanently (“If you want to ride there, let us know, and one of us will go with you”). This process sends her along paths that you, too, can accept – and it teaches good decision-making. It’s quite the opposite of simply telling her what she can and cannot do.

Choose your routes and destinations in accordance with the map. In other words, don’t succumb to the temptation to ride together on a long adventure that you wouldn’t want a seven-year-old to try with his buddies. Instead ride to the place he’s almost ready to try himself – i.e., make sure that, when he feels ready, he is.

This much is critical: don’t expect a preadolescent to have the judgment of an adult, but do respect what judgment he has. For instance, as a child I did discern that riding beyond my immediate neighborhood was not a good thing; I knew when I left my comfort zone – I still remember the uncomfortable feeling of the streets immediately beyond my friends’ houses. Had my mother instructed me not to ride beyond those markers, I’d have understood that her rules reinforced my own. But because she said nothing, I made judgments that ignored my (better) instincts.

Significantly, if she had set boundaries for me, I’d not only have honored them, I’d have told her when I was ready to go beyond. Perhaps not every child would have, but providing the opportunity is half the battle. By looking for your child’s best instincts and working with them you operate at the limit of her abilities, where you learn from each other. You also make it clear that you’re thinking about her, proving once again that you care.

Remember to be there – physically – when you’re needed,– even before training wheels come off,– before you’re running to hold onto the saddle of that wobbly bike your child is trying to master. You might start with a child-seat on the back of your own bicycle, exploring and running errands that way with each child in turn. Even then you can talk about which trips require a parent and which could soon be solo flights. Later you can ride a younger sibling while your older daughter rides her own bike, turning an errand into a family event. Just as reading with your children gives them books as a natural part of family life, using a child seat opens the door to riding as a family. That final moment when your son or daughter takes off, self-launched on two wheels, should be neither the beginning nor the end for either of you.

Questions for You

If you have helped a child learn to ride a bike, what was the process like? Is that child's recollection of the process very different from yours? Does he or she see riding as a measure of freedom?

If you answered yes to the question above, how long did the process take? It's been some months now since Lily said she wanted to remove her training wheels, but last time I asked, it hadn't happened yet. (Her thought was to remove just one wheel at a time!)

If you have a young child who rides a bike, how old is the child and how involved are you in the riding?