Can you remember when you graduated up from your tricycle which your Dad secretly repaired and painted for your little brother or sister, and got your first two-wheel bike?
Of course it had to have all the state of the art gadgets like handlebar grip streamers, a bell or horn and of course your own touches like your big brothers baseball cards clothe pinned to the spokes.
Now you are ready to go, you hop on, your Dad is holding you steady, and you're off, 1-2-3 he lets you go, down the sidewalk, your legs pedaling as fast as you can go wobbling back and forth and... bam you hit the biggest bush in your neighbors yard. Well at least it slowed you down a bit before you fell over.
Do you give up? No, here we go again, this time your pant leg gets caught in the chain and you tumble head over heals, skinning knees and elbows. By this time Mom is already out with the unquentine and band aids.
Over and over you are determined to win and finally you do, the freedom you feel is invigorating and finally you're no longer a little kid.