The Really Big Bicycle
(Because someone burglarized my other bicycle).
The Cadillac of Bicycle Riding Experiences (for a kid)
When I was a kid, I had a bicycle, as most kids did, with training wheels. It was pretty typical of kid’s bikes back then (the 1960s). One speed and training wheels. I can remember learning to ride this bike, and as time went along, my parents would raise the training wheels a little bit every couple of days so eventually my balance would become better. At some point, the training wheels came off, and I was free (or so it seemed). I could mostly ride anywhere in the neighborhood. We lived on a street with row homes. Next to the street was a concrete pavement. It was about ten feet wide. I would ride between the two north-south streets that bounded our neighborhood. That length was what we called a block. It took eight blocks to make a mile, so a block was 1/8th of a mile.
It’s difficult to get a sense of that distance. It took no more than five minutes to traverse that distance on a bike. Basically, that is what I did. I rode back and forth along that block from boundary street to boundary street. It was a kind of freedom. That was until my bike mysteriously disappeared.
We had a backyard that was the size of a room, about 12 feet x 12 feet. The ground was concrete, and it was enclosed in cinder block, a kind of large brick-like object for making walls. You may see it today used in the foundation of new homes. My bike was kept in the backyard, leaning up against a wall. The only way in was to climb into the yard from the alleyway. This was a pathway that ran between houses on our street and the houses on the next street. It was about six feet wide. If I stretched my arms wide, I could touch the walls of our yard and the walls of the yard across the alley.
If a person climbed over the wall, then they could steal whatever was in the yard. To
leave the backyard, they could simply open a door at the rear of the yard that leads out to the alley. That is precisely what happened with my bike. One of the neighborhood kids climbed over the yard wall, took the bike, and left through the yard door. At least this is the story my mom told me. My bike was gone, and so was my riding for now. My parents were not about replacing the bike. I believe it was a hand me down, as were many things in those days. And I had no source of money to replace the bike.
This could have been the end of this story, but it wasn’t going to be.
Fortunately, in a moment of complete ignorance, my brother left his bike in the yard because he would no longer need it for his paper route. Or he was going away to college. Whatever it was, there it was, waiting to be used. As you can see from the photo at the beginning of this story, it was quite the formidable bicycle.
When I first saw the bicycle, I thought there was no way I could ride this bike. It would be impossible for me to get into it. I wondered though what this bike would be like to ride?
Aren’t those tires amazing? What must they be like to ride on? I would find out soon.
Well, my mom would NEVER allow me to ride this behemoth. So, what hope I had was dashed at that moment.
Not one to give up so easily, I didn’t let it drop at this time.
I thought to myself. What are the problems I would have to face?
I would have to get the bike in and out of the backyard.
I would have to figure out how to get into the seat up on top of the bicycle.
I would have to see if I had enough strength to pedal the bike. After all, it was a single-speed bike.
I wondered what would happen if I fell from the bike. Solution: Don’t fall.
I would have to figure out how to get down from the bike.
Where would I ride it?
How could I convince mom to let me ride the bicycle?
I figured that I could use a small ladder to get up into the bicycle seat. I tried this, and I could get up into the bicycle seat. Furthermore, I was also able to get down from the bicycle. Two questions were answered.
While I was up on the bike, I determined that I would be able to pedal it with some effort. Sometimes I would have to stand on the pedals. I would have to find downhill runs.
I would have to ride the bike on the pavement next to the houses. Likewise, I would have to be careful if anyone was walking on the sidewalk.
I took the bike out of the backyard. I also took the ladder with me so I could get up and down from the bike.
I climbed up onto the bike and proceeded to ride my usual path up and down the block and then back to the backyard. Although the bike is high off the ground, the ride was terrific. The ride was smooth and comfortable.
I also didn’t fall from the bike.
I began the ride in the Easterly direction. We referred to that direction as down the block. We referred to it that way because we were starting the ride from Fourth Street traveling to Third Street, ergo in the “down” direction.
The ride on this bike was unlike any other bike I had ridden before. It was very smooth. It didn’t feel like I was riding on any sort of pavement. There were no bumps at all. It was like riding on a floating platform above the ground. There was no detectable feeling of the ground. It was that smooth.
As I rode the bike down the block, I felt a gentle breeze blowing through my hair and against my body. It was a great sensation. Is this what bike riding felt like?
It was glorious. It was heaven.
At the Third street end of the block, I turned around and headed back home. Turning on these tires was more cumbersome, but once I was headed towards back fourth street again, it was smooth riding until I reached home. Braking was almost effortless, and I came to a smooth stop in front of my house. I was going to be king of this pavement road.
The test ride was successful, and I could tell mom I could ride the bike without any problems. It was summer, and I could ride my bike to work or anywhere for that matter. It was really my first experience of freedom and what it would be like.
The next twelve weeks of bike riding were great. I was free to ride where I wanted and when I wanted.
Things usually didn’t work so well for me, and my time with this bike would surely end. That is precisely what happened, too.
My mother was not happy when she wasn’t able to control my life, and she wasn’t happy when I didn’t do what she said.
The weekend before I started school again, my bicycle disappeared from the yard just like my earlier bike did.
My mom said it must have been stolen. Other than being stolen, there was no other explanation.
Losing the bike meant losing my freedom. I was disappointed and sad, and mom seemed not to be too sad about the loss of the bike.
The school year went by, and I was able to purchase another bike from the money I could make from working after school during the school year. I found a used bike I could afford, and I regained my freedom. My mom was not thrilled, but there was little she could do at this time.
Closing Comments
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You can reach me at therenguy@gmail.com.
NOTE Regarding the Use of AI to Write: My writing is done without the use of an AI Writer.
aww a boy and his bike and the taste of sweet freedom. My boys most precious belonging is their bike.