I am going to get perved on by a psycho driving instructor

After walking 65 minutes from my house to Hollingbury (I got lost in Patcham) and then 40 minutes back, it seems like it's about time I stopped putting it off whilst submitting to ridiculous bus fares and just learn to ride a bike.
At 22, it's slightly, ok, more than slightly, embarrassing that I still don't know how. In my defence, I can balance and peddle for a bit. I learned that when I was 19 with good intentions of saving money. Unfortunately, I can't turn corners or stop and I've heard that these things are crucial to learning to cycle on the road. I blame it on my father. He should have taught me when I was 5 or something. But then, can't we blame everything on our parents? At some point we have to take responsibility for the rubbish that remains in our lives.
I always find it funny that quite a lot of people seem to think of me as being a bit of a hippie when I can't even ride, a bit that is surely a pre-requisite to genuinely caring about the earth or at least a way of waving a fist at 'the man' by refusing to pay exhorbitant public transport prices. Frankly, I'm not sure that I think or care that much about 'the man', whoever he is, and I'm certainly not as bothered about eco-issues as I should be. Maybe a bicycle will lend me a bit more hippie credibility.
I'm a little concerned though about the fact that lately whenever I conjure up an image of myself on a bicycle, one of two things enter my mind: me on a lady's bike with a long skirt and an Edwardian hat (an amīcus-type who has been staying with me planted this one in my head) or a re-incarnation of the girl from Happy-Go-Lucky. It's more frequently the latter. I'm blatantly going to become loud, overly-friendly and annoyingly and perpetually happy with my lacy blue tights to match my blue skirt, blue earrings and blue eyeshadow. If anyone catches me morphing into this, please shoot me.