Bikes of Bygone Days, Part 1

   I’ve been reading a book called Bike Snob, in which the writer describes some of his early experiences on bikes, before his love for cycling fully blossomed. I thought it would be entertaining to share images of my early machines and some stories to go along with them. Some of these tales may have you wondering why I didn’t give up cycling completely before I was truly “hooked”.

   Although this is not the bike on which I first learned to ride, it is very close. I can’t remember the manufacturer or anything, but this is the same type and color.

   I remember my parents taking me out on a small alley near our apartment in Allentown, and when I had enough confidence to go off on my own without them holding on, I promptly ran into a curbside sewer drain and wiped out. A couple years later, although my skills had improved somewhat, I encountered a car speeding through an intersection in front of me. I had little time to apply the coaster brake (the backpedal kind) and plowed right into the side of the car. I remember a boy sitting in the passenger seat, just looking at me lying on the street as his wonderful mother just sped away, leaving me there. Although I was badly shaken and had some major scrapes, I was glad that the bike was still in one piece! The paint eventually faded to an almost pink color and Dad kindly repainted it a sparkly blue, installed more upright handlebars and a banana seat for my younger brother – VERY cool!

   My second bike was a red Kia (same Korean company that eventually made the cars), similar to the one pictured, except with a black seat and bar handles, and without the whitewall tires.

   My middle brother had a yellow one which disappeared one night, along with mine, from our back porch – I assume that they were locked, but can’t remember for sure. We heard that some shady characters had been seen unloading bikes from the back of a pickup truck behind a housing development in one of the less desirable sections of Allentown’s East Side. I don’t know if we were crazy or just that angry about our bikes being stolen, but we convinced Dad to take us on a drive in our Volkswagen bus to just “look around” the area.

   Incredibly it didn’t take long for us to find a boy, maybe a couple years younger than I (eight years old at the time), riding my bright red Kia on the sidewalk near his apartment. Again, I don’t know if I was crazy or angry, but I simply walked over to him and said, “That’s my bike.” The boy knew it wasn’t his and just handed it over. I started confidently walking the bike towards the van, and then I heard a screen door open and a deep voice behind me.

   I have to explain that by midsummer my skin was darkly tanned, because the boy’s father shouted, “Why are you letting that Puerto Rican kid take your bike?” I can remember vividly Craig sitting in the van with the sliding side door open, waving for me to hurry up. I sprinted the short distance, swung the bike up and jumped in as he slammed the door behind me, and Dad accelerated away. We never found Craig’s bike, but I think at that point we would have been pushing our luck!

   I was saving up paperboy pay in order to buy my first real “racing bike”, a Ross Gran Tour II that I picked out from a catalog my father brought home when he heard of my planned purchase. The bike description listed the color scheme as Cognac and beige, which sounded really classy to me! My parents surprised me on Christmas by wheeling the assembled ten speed into the living room. I remember feeling a bit confused when they explained how they paid the remaining funds, and I found my saved cash gone, but it was all good in the end.

   I ran that bicycle into the ground! Ross didn’t feature top end components, and my mechanical skills had not yet evolved, so eventually the derailleurs failed.  I was riding it primarily as a single speed during summers when I was home from college. Again Mom and Dad (they really are the best!) came through, had the gearing completely redone and delivered the bike to my dorm at the University of Maryland. I rode all over the greater Washington, D.C. area when I wasn’t in class, and even entered a couple criterium races on campus.

    My wife Sue and I started dating during our sophomore year, and we started riding together when she purchased the Schwinn that our son Carrick now rides (see refurbishing story here).  She remembers very well the shock on my face, and steam possibly coming out of my ears, when a new junior year roommate borrowed my bicycle without asking, and later said, “I knew you wouldn’t mind.” Looking back, he really only knew me a few weeks, and wasn’t a cyclist, so I suppose he just wouldn’t have understood my feelings towards the bike.

   More "Bygone Bikes" next week…