Personal Narrative Essay: How To Start A Bike

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My dad behind me was the first thing I breathed in as I kicked the pedal to start the bike. It got its life back and so did I, my anxiety. He was teaching me how to ride the bike and I had no prior experience. The seat was burning hot early in the morning, but the birds flying around, cheerfully rejected my opinion. Holding the clutch, I clicked my left heel downwards to change the gear from neutral to the first. My right leg was on the rear brake ready to dive into action in case of an emergency. While rotating the the right handle bar – the accelerator, with only the necessary amount of force to revoke the movement, simultaneously, I loosened my left hand grip on the clutch. “Little more”, my dad was chanting. After a certain threshold,
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