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| Bygone days . . . |
My daughter and I were looking for new bicycles.
And the irony was just sickening.
Let me go waaay back and tell you why . . .
I was five and quite ready to move up from the tricycle that had served me well. I was ready to 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 oldest brother, Jerry'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 next older brother George’s bike.
It was a hand-me-over from Jerry and had already gone many, many miles.
Been refurbished and set to go many, many more.
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| Younger brother on 'Alfred'. Handed down again. |
But it was out of bounds for me.
Because...George.
That left the biggest bike.
Mom’s.
A classic.
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 my fleeter, 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 while, that bike and I were good company.
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| My brother perched on my gold beauty (sans tassels) |
Until Dad brought home a solid gold beauty.
Just for me.
Complete with a banana seat and ape-hanger handlebars (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.
And remarkable.
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.
Nope.
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 biked every morning. With assorted grandchildren as out-riders and three of us towing little trailers, we resembled a parade.
All we needed were the balloons.
And clowns.
Okay, just the balloons.
The little blue Canadian Tire $99 Special I had been riding had been sadly outclassed by my DIL’s vintage, pink Electra marvel.
I had ridden it.
It was delicious.
I wanted one.
So my daughter and I had determined to find bikes EXACTLY like it.
Now, for the ironic part.
These bikes were precisely like the bike I learned to ride on.
The old green reliable.
The one I wouldn’t be caught dead on all those years ago.
Balloon tires and all.
See? Irony. . .
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| Today. See the pink beauty somewhere in the middle? Mmmmm. |
