CHAPTER 1

Sage's words whistle past my helmet. "Feeling lucky, Peter?"

She's used this line before, but I decide not to remind her. Instead I reply, "You tell me."

I feel the rear derailleur shift up a gear, then another, and envision her looking back to check traffic. "Standing!" she calls.

Together we rise out of our saddles and "hammer"-pedal with as much strength as possible-while she steers the tandem from curbside to the left lane. Our speed rises quickly from about 20 mph to 30 mph. We've done this before, so I signal with my left arm as she feathers the brakes for a turn onto Lullwater Road.

"Left!" she calls out.

I replace my grip on the left handlebar and lean. Our legs are motionless, left pedal up and right pedal down, as we glide through the arc of the turn. A nearby driver blasts a horn at us, not because he has to but because he hates to share the road. Fortunately, Lullwater Road is extra wide because it was originally a trolley route, so on this road near Emory University, we enjoy a little distance from speeding cars.

I feel the rear derailleur shift down a gear. Then I ask, "How'd we do?"

"You're still upright," she laughs.

"Uh-huh, good thing I trust you."

Sage's Journal
June 5, 1988
Decatur, GA

…yes, Peter trusts me. Nevertheless, I've discovered trust, like love, can have its limits. One example is the false trust that experienced foster kids have in their newly introduced foster parents. I call it a false trust because the foster kids' participation in the relationship doesn't spring from faith, which is needed to develop trust, but from fear, which is needed to ensure survival. … For many of us foster kids, the first childhood treasure we were stripped of was our faith in the adults around us.

…Peter and I began our friendship on that difficult false trust level. We have since reached a level of trust, at least with regard to cycling, called respect. He respects me because I've taught him to ride. He enjoys riding, he rides well, and on the tandem he has a freedom he didn't think was possible.

I feel the rear derailleur drop down another gear. Together our legs increase pace as we approach a low hill. Usually Sage describes the scenery, but here she is silent. We have been riding tandem in this area for over a year, and I know the landmarks. The smell of fresh dough greets me as we pass Everybody's Pizza. A pocket of cool air confirms our crossing over Peachtree Creek. Next the long downhill run with a right-hand sweep tells me we are beside Druid Hills Country Club approaching Ponce de Leon Avenue, a notorious intersection because of high bushes close to the road.

Sage's Journal
Age 27
Decatur, GA

…today was my first day as a Decatur YMCA volunteer mentor. I don't think it'll be a big commitment. I just need to meet once a week with a kid named Peter. He's a twelve year-old boy who's almost blind, because he's not getting medical treatment for posterior subcapsular cataracts. … The only thing I can figure we have in common is foster care. He's been in for about five years.

Sage's Journal
Age 13
Elizabeth, NJ

…foster care is hell. Just because you're in doesn't mean you're friends with everyone else who's in, although some of us do try to take care of each other…

Sage's Journal
Age 14
Elizabeth, NJ

I'm in because my parents failed me. … I don't care if they were stupid or unlucky and I've given up caring whether this is temporary or permanent. The point is that I'm suffering. For us doubly unfortunate kids, foster care is a cruel and miserable existence.

Somebody help me!

…if I could just be sure that somewhere, anywhere, lucky kids are being raised by nice adults and foster care is a dream come true maybe I'd feel better. But for everyone I know our childhoods were destroyed in a scorching whirlwind of fear, rejection, and distrust. …now I'm just skin and bones without a spirit.

Sage's Journal
Age 18
Atlanta, GA

…most of us foster teens are angry and I'm no exception. I try to wash away the anger by hanging with non-foster teens, but they whine so much about growing up with parents who "don't understand them" that I'm sick of them. …their pathetic attempt to create attention is crazy. They should be grateful for their easy lives. I want so badly to describe to them the real horror growing up can be. But I stay silent, partly because I'm not sure who or what I've become, and partly because to speak means to reveal my past -- the one I want so desperately to erase.

Sage's Journal
Age 20
Atlanta, GA

One thing is certain for all but a few of us: We're not prepared for adulthood.

Sage's Journal
Age 27
Decatur, GA

Initially I wanted to help Peter with his schoolwork in an attempt to improve his poor grades. But we didn't have much success-mostly, I thought, because of his vision problems. I figured he was simply too scared and angry to concentrate on school. … Eventually I realized I was the problem; I wasn't a good mentor because I ignored what concerned him and focused on what concerned me. Once I began thinking about what was important to him, our situation improved. It began with the idea of riding a tandem.

Sage's Journal
Age 22
Decatur, GA

When I was in third grade, Christmas Day was a pivotal event in my life. As a foster child, I always felt alone, even in a crowded house, because I wasn't born into the family celebrating around me. But that year was different. That Christmas I received hope and freedom in the same gift!

…I was living on Christie Street in Leonia. Next door lived my friend Ricky Washington. Ricky's dad invited me over for lunch that day, but something even better was waiting for me there. After lunch Ricky's family surprised me with a new red Schwinn bicycle. My own bike!

I had long dreamed of my own bike, but never thought it was possible. Just looking at it, I felt so much adrenaline pumping through my head that I became dizzy. All at once my heart soared, my eyes watered, my hands began to tremble, and my feet started to sweat. I couldn't move. I could only stare at it, waiting to be told it was for someone else.

…the steel frame was a menacing red, the color of fresh blood gushing from a cut vein. Chrome fenders floated over black tires -- halos circling twin stallions-while handlebars capped with red grips sprang from the gooseneck stem like the horns of a charging bull. The seat was the shape and hue of a white fang.

…it called to me, but I still couldn't move. Sensing my awe, Ricky's mom wheeled it over to me and promised me that it was truly mine and mine alone. Her words were intoxicating to someone who owned only a paper bag of clothes and three books. … With this bike, I could steer a few blocks and arrive in a universe where I was not in foster care and miserable, but where I was confident, strong, and safe. I was now free as long as my imagination could fly and my legs could pedal.

Sage taught me that confidence is an elementary level of trust in yourself or another person. Confidence in another person matures into respect after you realize she has achieved a level of success that you want to achieve. Typically, you listen and believe when she says something regarding her life or experiences, because she has proven herself by her success. When she says something about your common experiences and goals, then you are smart to believe and apply what she says, as what works for her will very likely work for you.

Sage's Journal
Age 27
Decatur, GA

…years later I ride the most maxed-out cycles sold, but I can't forget the majestic beauty of that Schwinn Sting-Ray and the life-changing effect of the Washingtons' kindness. They introduced me to faith in others and myself through two wheels. I thought I could do the same for Peter. … If only I could find the Washingtons, to show them that their generosity was not in vain and that I learned well from their lesson.

I remember learning to ride tandem with Sage. Although I had ridden a bicycle when I could see, my failed vision made me afraid of riding even in the safety of an empty parking lot. I could do nothing about my fear but remain hunched over the tandem with a death grip on the handlebars and all my weight on the saddle-the least desirable position. I'm sure I looked like Kermit the Frog riding behind Big Bird. The scariest feeling was slow-speed turns. Many times I slipped off my saddle during a slow turn. Those turns resembled a nightmare I sometimes have where it's pitch black, and I'm falling, falling, falling, but before I hit bottom, my whole body recoils, and I scare myself awake. Tandem riding began as a wrenching experience.

Sage's Journal
Age 28
Decatur, GA

…our progress is slow, because Peter doesn't have faith in himself or me, let alone trust. This is a situation that'll remain unchanged until he finds some faith and nurtures it into confidence. With some confidence, he can develop the will to challenge and overcome all sorts of obstacles.

Sage's Journal
Age 28
Decatur, GA

Peter's movements are stilted and guarded. He's unsure of his every step, so he shuffles and frisks the ground with his feet as he walks at half speed. With his head tucked down and shoulders curved inward, he appears turtle-like, always ready to withdraw to his shell. …the unknown world is his enemy.

…on the tandem he's a different person. In the saddle he's poised, head up, back straight, arms slightly bent, and hands comfortably on the bar. His movements are smooth, fluid, and uninterrupted. Oddly, he and the tandem become one. As this new being, Peter is relearning the world through the tandem.

I hated those initial riding sessions and all of Sage's instructions. But I have to admit I was happier outside learning to ride than inside listening to TV. As I became familiar with the feel of the tandem, I began to relax, and what had been a wrestling match with Sage and the tandem became a dance.

The turning point for me was when I realized that the tandem and I could become one, like the mythical centaur who is human from the waist up and horse from the waist down. I became that centaur by turning my feet to pedals, my arms to handlebars, and my fingertips to tires that read asphalt like Braille. That's when I began to understand that I was not limited by my blindness, and I started to have faith in myself. We spent what felt like years practicing in that parking lot. Finally we had to break out.

Our maiden voyage was amazing. On a Saturday in early spring, we cycled the five miles to my school. Some of my classmates saw me and were impressed that I rode across town. Over the next couple of weeks, a rumor spread that I was secretly a cycle jock, so they nicknamed me "Hammerhead." I was not a cycle jock yet, however. My classmates began to realize I was not so different.

On the way back, we stopped at Suzanne's house. Suzanne and I were in the same grade and had become friends since she began tutoring me in math. Besides being smart, Suzanne is one of those people who is a source of encouragement and support to others. She was home, so we visited with her and her brother Mike. When I returned to my foster home, I received a hero's welcome.

Sage's Journal
Age 28
Decatur, GA

…today was the day of our maiden voyage, and I feel a huge sense of satisfaction for Peter. This ride was a goal we'd set months before and, even though we had a few near-hits with some careless drivers, we were successful! … As we loaded the tandem onto my pickup and talked of our next ride, he was more self-assured and excited than ever.

…he also spoke to me differently. In the parking lot, he'd developed confidence in himself and trust in me. But today, fresh from the success of our first ride, he had trust in himself and respect for me. I'm pleased for myself, because I've waited a long time for this moment. This means our relationship has taken on a new dimension, and I have more responsibility. … How I treat his respect will play an important role in my real desire: helping him to make a smooth transition from foster care into a successful adulthood.

As we approach the intersection at Ponce de Leon Avenue, our timing could not be better. Sage says we're about thirty yards away, and the traffic light facing us just turned green. That means we have about forty seconds to get through that intersection.

"Liven up back there," Sage says, "we've got a light to catch."

She shifts both the front and rear derailleurs up a gear. Simultaneously we stand on our pedals and hammer. I feel the tandem flex under the strain of our sprint to the other side of the light. The intersection is nearing quickly, so I imagine her keeping a protective lookout, even squinting through the bushes for signs of movement. I also trust her fingers are poised over the brake levers, just in case.

"We're golden!" she calls as we pierce the intersection. I howl like a wolf.

"How close were we?" I ask.

"Plenty of time."

We settle back into our saddles, and I feel both derailleurs downshift for a more leisurely pace. Sage calls it cruisin'. Cruisin' lets both the helmsman and the stroker relax a bit. (On a tandem, the helmsman is the person up front who steers, and the stroker is the person in the back.) Cruisin' is the time to talk with each other or quietly think. She seems troubled, so I ask what's up.

Socratic Method questions for Chapter 1

Understanding the Guide