I was 6 years old when I had gotten my first ever bike. My bike was a icy blue and frosty white with a Cinderella on the sides. It had unequal, bumpy white training wheels, and a matching blue bag in the from to store all of your belongings. It had white rubber handle bars and silver tassels.
I remember the first time I learned to ride a bike. My dad would hold the back of my seat and push me until he got tired and let go. I remember being to be so mad and so scared at him for the fact that he let me go. I would fall and tumble onto the grass -every-time-. Until one time he pushed me, and I stayed on.
I one day grew courageous (and was maybe a bit peer pressured from my older brother) to bike down a hill. When I drove down that first ever hill (although I was very sacred) I felt pure adrenaline and a huge taste of freedom. After that day I was addicted to going faster and faster down that hill until that no longer excited me and I wanted to go down bigger and bigger hills. I started to go down the hill with no hands, on the handles of my brothers bike, and other danger places just to remain in that free and powerful state.
I remember riding my bike with all my all of my friends and siblings until it was nighttime and dark and we were all called in to come inside.
For me my bike symbolized freedom, independence, power, unity, and adrenaline. I was obsessed with my beautiful blue princess bike and the feeling of euphoria.
Word count - 285
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