I could have flown half way to heaven. Blue, my favorite color.
With Grandma’s cash in hand, I went to to the local bike store with one simple question: “What can I get for $50?” More money than I had ever seen, I might add…..and it was all mine!
The latest thing were Schwinn Sting Rays. High handle bars, wonderfully seductive white vinyl seats that sloped up, sparkling in the sun. No more battery powered headlights–they now had a rear tire generator that lit the front and back as you pedaled. Yea, I know–you thought that was invented in 1609.
Chrome! The front headlight was silver and a nice big chrome fender over the back wheel so I couldn’t splash mud on my butt. All I needed was a baseball card to fasten on the back wheel with an alligator clothes pin. Which I gladly attached–probably with a Phillies player cause they sucked so pathetically.
3-speeds! Jubilation. There was a little ‘eight ball’ knob to shift gears. Other kids had 3 speeds, now I was one of them.
I even had money left over for streamers–long plastic strips for the handlebars, waving in the breeze.
I don’t remember who took me to the store, but it was probably mom, as you’ll learn later.
I can say without a doubt it was one of the happiest days of my life. I called Grandma and gushed to her about how beautiful it was. Kids were wowing about it, but I really didn’t need their compliments, I got a great present from the one person I could count on to love me unconditionally–when I rode it, it was like I was bonding with her.
That shiny seat was so comfortable; before this, all bikes had had the same weird, triangle-ish seat, with foam rejects from pillow factories atop brutal, unforgiving steel springs.
I even walked it up the big hill so I could pedal around up there (no playground yet). Dirty? I wiped it down and made sure I put it on the porch at night, safe from looters and rain.
I went to the cellar, got dad’s car wax and shined every nook and cranny my eentsy fingers could reach. Man, that thing glowed, you could see the reflection in Kalamazoo. In winter, it went in the cellar, not in the garage.
I now realize that at my age, a bicycle was the greatest possession. Boys or girls. You needed it like adults needed cars. You used it to get places, go riding with friends, explore and touch your world. You didn’t just ride, you grew into your bike. No more toys in your room, playing in the back yard. Bikes meant freedom, the wind in your hair; your pedaling effort gave you the speed you loved.
I wish to God this story had a happy ending. But for a while there, I had a consolation whenever the screaming and destructive words started flowing.