|Bygone days . . .|
My daughter and I are looking for new bicycles.
And the irony is just sickening.
Let me tell you why . . .
I was five and quite ready to move up from the tricycle that had served me well. I was ready learn to ride a two-wheeler.
I could ride almost anything with four legs and, on the ranch, the choices there were nearly endless.
But when it came to bicycles, I had . . . less.
Choices, that is.
There was my older brother's bike. But the bar made the fact that I was short and couldn't sit on the seat, impossible.
The one that was closest to my size was ‘Alfred’, my brother George’s bike.
It was a hand-me-over from our oldest brother, Jerry, and had already gone many, many miles.
Been refurbished and set to go many, many more.
|Younger brother on 'Alfred'. Handed down again.|
But it was out of bounds for me.
That left the bigger bike.
The old green one with the balloon tires.
The one that stood almost taller than my head.
There was no way I could remotely come near to sitting on the seat, but I discovered I could manage nicely if I just stood on the pedals.
The whole time I was riding.
The amazing thing is, for the behemoth it was, that bike was astonishingly easy to ride.
And a fantastic bike to learn on.
In no time, I was whizzing up and down the tree-lined drive, pumping madly as I tried to keep up with myfleeter, older brother.
I don’t remember actually riding it when I could reach the seat and the pedals at the same time, but for a few years, that bike and I were good company.
|My brother perched on my gold beauty |
Until Dad brought home a solid gold beauty.
Just for me.
Complete with a banana seat and ape-hanger handle bars (with gold streamers) it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.
We were instantly fast friends.
And I do mean fast.
And the novel ability to be able to sit while I pedaled was . . . novel.
We spent many hours and miles together.
Until I outgrew it.
You’d think I would then have turned to the old, green reliable, now that feet and seat could actually work in conjunction with each-other.
But I didn’t.
After riding my gold beauty, I wouldn’t be caught dead on that old thing.
Moving ahead many, many years.
My daughters and daughters-in-law bike every morning. With assorted grandchildren as out-riders and three of us towing little trailers, we resemble a parade.
All we need are the balloons.
Okay, just the balloons.
The little blue $99. special I have been riding has been sadly outclassed by my DIL’s vintage, pink marvel.
I have ridden it.
It is delicious.
I want one.
So my daughter and I have determined to find bikes exactly like it.
Now, for the ironic part.
It is precisely like the bike I learned to ride on.
The old green reliable.
The one I wouldn’t be caught dead on.
Balloon tires and all.
I’ll let you know how it goes . . .