I rode the wheels off my tricycle - literally. There were huge chunks of the hard rubber "tires" missing by the time I outgrew it. Despite my father's best efforts, I wasn't ready to move up to two wheels yet. (If memory serves me correctly, I tried, crashed and wanted nothing further to do with it, no matter how he cajoled).
Finally, at eight years old, Dad managed to browbeat me into trying again. My maiden voyage was less-than-auspicious. I soloed - right out of the yard, across the street and into a "No Parking" sign. Still, I was hooked.
My first two bikes were hand-me-downs from my sister. I had to endure crap from my friends because I was riding a girls bike, but I was riding and that meant more than being ragged on.
Since we didn't have much money, all my bikes were cobbed-together from whatever parts I could scrounge, either from the dump, bikes put out at the curb or friends' parts stashes. It was sort of an evolutionary process - the parts were selected by Dawin's law of bike parts: Whatever parts survived endless wheelies, jumping, bunnyhopping and other abuse, made it to the next incarnation of my bike. Through trial and error (mostly error) I learned how to work on bikes.
More than anything else, I wanted a Honda Elsinore dirt bike.
Since my parents didn't have the money for such things, and since they despised dirt bikes, there was no way in hell I was getting one, I did the next best thing - I rode my bicycle on the dirt bike trails. ("Mountain biking" YEARS before Gary Fisher and company, thank you very much).
As I entered my difficult teen years, I found that my bike was freedom- freedom from the confines of a small town, where I didn't fit in and freedom from the ever-escalating conflicts with my mother. During the summer months, I rode all day, every day. As soon as I was up and my chores were done, I was gone. My bike was my best friend and escape pod.
As my parents became more tolerant and I became less of a....teen.... the conflicts lessened, but my love of riding didn't. I read books and magazines and dreamed of touring the country by bike.
With the acqusition of the coveted driver's license and a newly found social life, my riding lessened, but it still didn't drop off my radar completely. Through actual, gainful, employment, I was able to buy my first new bike. This was followed fairly quickly by the purchase of my first "good" new bike. (The Lotus mentioned in a previous blog entry).
One day,I was out and about and ran into a friend who told me that my dad had just been taken to the hospital. I hurried there, thinking he'd had another accident in the kitchen. (He'd cut himself badly a few weeks before). Nothing that benign had taken place. Years of smoking, high stress jobs, no exercise and more than a few extra pounds had taken their toll. He was in the cardiac ICU.
During his recovery, he started exercising - and what better way than by bike? I loaned him one of mine and rode (slowly) along with him. I was probably more proud of him when he made it the full length of our street than he was, when I did, all those years before! Riding with my dad ! Too cool! Think of the possibilities!
It wasn't to be.
During his treatment, some ominous black spots had been found on his lungs. It was also found to have spread to his brain. They gave him 6 months.
On the day his pack-a-day habit took him out of the picture for good, I rode. I rode long and hard. It just seemed like the thing to do. He was 53, I was 23.
As I merged into adulthood, I was finally able to get the long longed-for motorcycle. Between the motorcycle and not having anyone to ride with -my wife wanted no part of riding - the bike slid further and further to the periphery of my life. Once a year or so, I'd drag the Lotus out and go for a ride. I'd suffer and think "God, am I THAT far out of shape?" and vow to get back into it.
Eventually, my marriage collapsed under it's own weight - bicycling was just one of many things we didn't have in common. We went our separate ways.
One day, early in my new, "Life V 2.0", we stopped in a bike shop, on a whim. I was stunned at the changes that had taken place while I was "gone". A new mountain bike soon entered my stable, followed by a new road bike, followed by a newer, cooler road bike.... a newer, cooler, full -suspension mountain bike.... and a part time job at bike shop to pay for all this stuff.
I'd like to say that things have come full circle - that my son shares my love of riding - but the jury's still out. Maybe some day.
