BIG BAD BIKER

Wrapped up like a pretzel, I freed his legs from the frame, dusted him off and tended to his war wounds.  He is no Lance Armstrong.  Then again, how could I blame the boy knowing his genetics.  He is definitely set for the same love hate relationship that his father has with the bicycle. 

Watching my son weave down the street on his bike with parked cars on either side is frightening.  I can’t help but contemplate whether to get better insurance or just start an autobody and paint shop.  While seeing him wobble to and fro today I remembered my own history.

5 years old. My first bike was a dark blue beauty with a banana seat- Dad let me go, and I ran into the apple tree in the yard.  One damaged apple tree.

11 years later.  Bike was a borrowed BMX with sleek aluminum and a half inflated tire tube tied to it. – Rode that bike down the hill and off the dock into the lake.  One lost BMX.

1 year later.  Bike was a snappy green beauty.  40km an hour and a fallen tree across the trail tells the story.  One broken collar bone, and one broken wrist.

6 years later.  Bike was a second hand gray beauty bought on a student salary.  Rode in front of a Ford Thunderbird.  One spine board and ambulance,  one four foot bruise, and one expensive traffic ticket.

4 years later.  Bike was a silver beauty.  Riding on the sidewalk with one hand holding a pizza box. Decided to use the left hand to shift gears on the right handlebar.  One scraped shoulder, one ruined pizza, and one white van with very good brakes.

April 12, 2012.  Bike is a snappy blue, borrowed from my wife.  Riding in the trees, with the wind in my face and thankful to be alive.  One wonderful ride, ZERO regrets.