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Nostalgia March 2018

Alive and Kidding

I Miss My Old Bicycle

By Sally Breslin

As I whooshed past the scenery (all of which had become nothing but a blur) and toward the intersection at the bottom of the hill, visions of myself becoming a permanent part of the logo on the side of an 18-wheeler flashed through my mind.

One of my friends recently bought a new bicycle that cost a “mere” $1,200. I don’t think I’d ever pay that much for a bicycle, not even if Brad Pitt were strapped to it and did all of the pedaling for me (well…maybe).

I honestly can’t understand why bicycles are so expensive nowadays, especially since they are nothing but stripped-down, lightweight versions of their former selves. Back when I was young, bikes were solidly built and weren’t likely to be blown over by a strong gust of wind.

My first bike was a shiny blue Schwinn with upright handlebars that were fashionably decorated with colorful plastic streamers and a flowered basket. It also had fat balloon-tires, foot brakes and a wide, thickly padded seat.

I rode that bike everywhere, even up steep hills. Sure, it was a struggle, especially when I neared the top of the hill and had to stand on the pedals and use my full weight to force them to make each revolution. I ended up sounding like a contestant in an oxen-pull competition at the state fair. Still, I figured the exercise was good for me.

The first modern bicycle I ever owned was a five-speed my husband bought for me as a surprise one summer. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but there wasn’t much I liked about that bike. For one thing, the seat was so small, it completely disappeared when I sat on it, giving me sort of an “apple on a stick” appearance. Even worse were the handlebars that resembled ram’s horns and forced me to assume an embarrassing position whenever I rode the bike. I mean, I don’t know too many women who are secure enough to enjoy riding with their bottoms sticking up in the air and their breasts resting on the handlebars.

The first time I went soaring downhill on my new bike, I tried to slow down by lightly applying pressure on the foot brakes, as I’d always done on my old bike. Unfortunately, this bike didn’t have foot brakes, so the pedals just went around backwards as I continued to pick up speed.

As I whooshed past the scenery (all of which had become nothing but a blur) and toward the intersection at the bottom of the hill, visions of myself becoming a permanent part of the logo on the side of an 18-wheeler flashed through my mind. Panicking, I squeezed both handbrakes as hard as I could…and nearly ended up doing a handstand.

Shifting gears also was something I never was able to master. Too often I found myself pedaling furiously and going absolutely nowhere. Other times, I felt as if I were trying to tow a Winnebago. There seemed to be no happy medium. The more I rode the bike, the more I longed for a soft, thickly cushioned seat – one that when I went flying over a big bump and landed hard, wouldn’t require a seat-ectomy afterwards. I also wanted fenders, so whenever I rode on rainy days, I wouldn’t end up with a muddy stripe down my back that made me look like a giant chipmunk.

I tried to adapt, I really did, but I finally gave up and sold the five-speed. And I haven’t owned another bicycle since.

I’m certain that my knees, my back, and every motorist who unwittingly was subjected to the rear view of me riding down the road, all are very grateful.

 

Sally Breslin is a native New-Englander, an award-winning humor columnist and the author of "There’s a Tick in my Underwear!" Contact her at: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .