Bicycle Freedom

Before we moved onto California Avenue, my sister and I both had bikes. Mom bought them for us the Christmas after dad had left. Mine was electric blue, J's was pink and white. When we moved, J and I immediately set out to explore our new neighborhood. We found a small park 2 blocks to the North, and a candy store 3 blocks West of our new home. Given a choice, we would have biked to school too.

One day, we rode to the candy store with J's best friend D. We left our bikes parked in front like we always did, and when we came out they were gone. We ran to D's house and her mom called the police. I described my bike in detail to them, all the way down to the broken spoke and the scratches in the paint, but I never saw my bike again. A few days later D and her mom were called down to the police station. They had found her bright red Mongoose bike. My mom was livid. She seemed to take it as a personal affront that the expensive bike had been found, yet her children remained bicycle-less. She spent a lunch hour at the police station raising a stink about it, but they couldn't return what they didn't have.

The next spring, Hosea House opened it's doors and I got a replacement bike for $5. It was neon green and the bannana-seat was covered in hippie daisies. I hated the look of that bike. It was so ugly in comparison to my blue one. My sister told me to get over it, at least I had a bike again. She was right, so I took the ugly bike out in public expecting ridicule at every turn. (heh) It never happened. Nobody but me thought my bike was funny looking. I had forgotten how freeing it was to pedal as fast as I could, the air pushing against my body. It felt like flying. Within a month I had come to love that green bike.

Ahhh, freedom!