My dad bought me my first bicycle when I was six. It was a brand new, beautiful blue, wide-tired, girl’s bike. I’m sure that he bought the girl’s bike because: 1. He was planning ahead for Sharron to have the bike when she was old enough to ride. 2. He got a great deal on it. 3. Both reasons.
In any case, I was the only guy to own and operate a girl’s bike in the Metro-Detroit area. Another way to say it is – I was 1 in 3,500,000. I was special… unique…a standout…exceptional…extraordinary…exclusive. But my friends thought my bike was weird.
Most of my friends had a bike with 20 inch wheels. Mine had 26. That may have been another reason why my dad bought the crotch protected version of a bike. I was his only son and he wanted to help ensure the family lineage.
Twenty inch wheels were easier to ride. Most of the guys just used the front steps of their porch as a mounting assist and headed out. If they fell it was immediate, and immediate falls were cushioned by the grass of the front lawn. Larger bikes, even the crotch protected type, required an assistant to get going. My dad was my assistant. You know the drill. The rider mounts, the assistant secures, the rider pushes down on the pedal of his predominate side (as determined by whether you are right or left footed) while the assistant walks, jogs, and runs as the rider gains momentum. This tandem unit is going faster and faster until the rider looks back to make sure that the assistant is keeping up, sees that the assistant has stopped twenty feet to the rear, and crashes into an invisible bush, tree, car or simply falls over towards his predominate side.
This process is repeated until the rider is able to go it alone. It can take a few minutes, hours, or days. There is no scientific study that can determine one’s rate of success. I think that the largest determining factor is desire. The desire to learn a new skill goes a long way towards helping a new learner accomplish the task. If you really want to, and you work hard, you will. But it has to be important to you.
When my grandson, Brady, was five and a half he said, “I don’t get it TGO. I can ride a bike, write my name, and catch a ball. But I can’t tie my shoes.” My reply was simple. “You’ll know how to tie when you think it’s important to tie. Right now most of your shoes slip on or have Velcro. You’ll be fine.” I was right. When it became important to him. He learned to tie.
Once you become an accomplished rider, you can ride anywhere. Have bike – will travel.
One day during the summer that I learned to ride I was at my cousin Gene and Ruth Ann’s house and we decided to take a spin. Being an accomplished girl’s bike rider I took off on Ruth Ann’s. Gene led the way on our “sidewalks only” ride. We rode around the block.
I saw a small hole in the sidewalk with what looked like a round rock in its center. I decided to take a risk and ride over the rock. Poor decision. I wiped out the bike and one of my unprotected legs. I had a severe scrape from my knee to my ankle and I cried like a trooper. It was a big, heavy from the gut, cry.
We made it back to the house and my aunt cleaned my wound. It was a surface wound but the top layer of skin was gone. I had a bad case of “road rash.”
About ten days later Grandpa Tebo visited our house. He was an infrequent visitor and a tobacco chewer. My leg was healing but very itchy. He saw me scratching and decided to come to my aid with a home remedy. Tobacco juice. Medically speaking, tobacco juice is composed of two main ingredients. Tobacco and spit. I found its application to be very soothing. When my dad walked into the room and saw his father treating me with this homemade concoction, he went nuts.
“Pa, what are you doing?”
“Helping the boy. He’s suffering.”
“He not suffering near as much as he will if his leg gets infected.”
Dad took me to the bathroom where he flooded my leg in peroxide. My leg looked like it was covered with inexpensive shaving cream. After a couple of applications, my father’s work was done. As soon as my leg dried I started to itch again, but with my dad’s constant attention I healed.
That was my first, last and only bad bike fall. There were other falls, but none quite as traumatic.
As I got older, I wanted a different bike. My parents were open to the idea as long as I paid for it. I already had a bike, and Sharron didn’t seem interested in riding yet (and we could share when she did) so the one I had should suffice. If I wanted another I’d have to save my money. So I did.
I had a series of small jobs that helped me earn money. (That’s another blog.) Birthday money was a great aid too. It took several months but I finally raised enough money to purchase a three speed Schwinn Racer with double hand brakes. It was beautiful. While others opted for the traditional black or British green, I chose red. I believe I may have been the only ten-year old to have purchased and personally owned and operated a Red Schwinn Racer in the Metro – Detroit area. Another way to say it is – I was 1 in 3,850,000. I was special… unique…a standout…exceptional…extraordinary…exclusive.
The purchase of that bike perked up my interest in baseball cards because …