Bicycles give that first taste of freedom
I was sitting with my mom a few days ago when my younger sister Christie
stopped by before dark with her grandson Jacob. He’s about
six with blonde hair, blue eyes and more energy than a nuclear
power plant. Like most kids his age, he really likes being outside
so he asked me to go out to watch him ride his bicycle.
I was tired of watching the Braves spank the Mets so I walked outside
and sat on the porch to watch him ride. The sky had big clouds as
gray as a gun barrel, but the rain and mist had all but stopped and
you could see shafts of sunlight off to the west.
Jacob got the pedals aligned just right on the small bicycle and
pushed off tentatively. He soon stabilized and started riding in
circles around the driveway. A big smile came across his face as
the wind blew through his hair. Watching him put a smile on my face
too. I could almost feel the sense of freedom he felt.
After learning to walk, you're pretty much land-locked until you
learn to ride a bicycle.
When I was about six, I learned to ride on my sister's old Schwinn
bike. That old bike had no fancy gears or hand-breaks on the handlebars,
only multi-colored plastic streamers that poked out of the ends of
the handgrips. They fluttered in the wind, and tickled your wrists
when you rode really fast.
My older sister Mary Lois was a very patient teacher. Holding the
bike steady, she let me get situated on the seat before she began
to run along beside me pushing gently until I found my balance. At
first, I wobbled like a drunk man when I rode, but honeysuckle vines
padded ditches on both sides of the driveway and kept me from breaking
my neck when I wrecked.
I never got discouraged because I knew that learning to ride was
important. And when I learned to ride, I must have put a million
miles on her bicycle riding up and down that old red-rock driveway.
A few years later when I was about ten, I got a Huffy bicycle for
Christmas. That bicycle was as red as a fireplug. It had a compartment
that fit between the two bracing bars that made it look like the
gas tank on a motorcycle. That bicycle gave me my first real taste
of freedom.
My friends and I always roamed all around Sloss Hollow, but the bicycle
gave us range. I think we explored every road and pig-trail in east
Walker County.
I learned to fly on that bicycle. Well, at least it felt like flying.
Each time I came to a straight stretch of road that sloped gently
downhill, I would find my balance, close my eyes and turn loose of
the handlebars. Gliding along with the wind in my face gave me the
sensation of flying. My mom would have had a coronary if she had
ever seen me, but I never worried about that when I was flying.
As I headed home after mama-sitting, I promised myself that I would
go to the barn, fetch my old bicycle, air up those tires and go flying.
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