My first bike– at least the first one I remember– had a long, sparkling purple banana seat and high handlebars with ribbons. In those days, I rode laps around the block on the sidewalk. I didn’t have a helmet but survived a few spills. One time, I sprinted to the corner with my twin sister on the seat with me. We hit a tree root bulging from under the cement and tumbled over. Something impaled my left knee, and I ran bleeding and crying back home. That scar is still there umpteen years later… an attractive reminder of my entry into the world’s best sport.