You know what's the weirdest part of this whole girl-on-the-bike crazy hoopla? Neither of my parents wrote to me asking: Meg, what the heck are you talking about? You got your first bike when you were seven, it was yellow, it had training wheels. By the time you were nine, you had a blue ten-speed you could ride no-hands all over the neighborhood. You *didn't* get your license at 16, it was 16½, after you failed your driver's test the first time. And you hardly ever got to borrow the family car because there was only one family car and I (mom) drove it to work every day. What on earth possessed you to concoct this story?