Subscribe via RSSAdventures on a Girl's Bike
Monday, June 18, 2007 |
School is out for the summer, which made me think about my summer vacations.
We hardly ever did big vacations like traveling to big destinations. I remember spending most summers on my bike. The first real bike I ever had was a used bike we purchased from the neighbors. Unfortunately, the neighbors had two girls, so my bike was technically a girl's bike. Banana seat, the big handlebars with pink streamers and the graceful curving support bar that indicates that it was built for a girl in the 1920s who only wore skirts. The paint was a glittering green with stickers of flowers and other girly things, like bows and angry sayings about boys.
The first step in "Boy-i-fying" my new "vehicle" was to paint it. Black is a manly color. I settled for "Primer Black" so my bike had a nice matte finish.
Next up was the seat. Some heavy-duty electrical tape covered up the pristine whiteness.
Lastly, those little ribbon tassels. I painted them black too. That's manly, right?
I went everywhere on that bike, as long as it was on my block.
At our age, bikes represented new freedoms as well as new ways of injuring ourselves. Case in point: My brother Paul, our neighbor Mike and I decided to set up a ramp in the empty lot across from our house.
The three of us, although small in stature, had some big ideas like jumping off the roof of the neighbors' camper until our feet stung and eating dry orange Tang mix out of Dixie cups with our wet fingers. So it should have not been a surprise to anyone when we began rummaging around for plywood and bricks to build our "Super Ramp." It was a "Super Ramp" because ordinary ramps were modest by our standards.
We didn't want to just get the bike off the ground, we wanted to simulate Evel Knievel's jump over the Grand Canyon. Instead of the Grand Canyon, we used an old plastic pool, and instead of a suped-up Star Spangled motorcycle, I preferred my matte black marvel.
We had several attempts at construction of our "Super Ramp." You would be amazed how difficult it is to build something without the use of nails or glue. Instead we decided mud would be a good alternative. It's cheap and easy to manufacture, plus we had just learned in school about how the ancient people lived in mud houses. If it was good enough for the ancient people, it was good enough for us.
Brick on top of brick slathered in mud until the perfect height was reached. The scrap plywood was placed on top of our vacant lot monolith and cemented in mud, of course.
We did "Rock, Paper, Scissors" to see who got to try it first. I won (Viva la Rock).
I got on my flat black wheeled-wonder and pedaled to the back of the lot. I started my acceleration. I pumped my legs as rapidly as my size 6 Converse All-Stars could go.
The "Super Ramp" got closer and closer. I went up the ramp. My black handlebar streamers waved stiffly in the wind. It was as if I was flying. I felt the cool summer breeze in my face and the smell of fresh mud in the air. I was awesome!
I landed hard and skidded to a stop at the end of the lot. Mike and Paul were there totally amazed at my awesomeness. Paul was the next to go.
I watched as he approached the ramp. The look of sheer determination in his eyes as he too hit the ramp.
*Just a quick side note. Mud is a horrible adhesive. Great for old houses, terrible for daredevil ramps.
Back to the action. Paul hit the ramp, but instead of ascending the ramp, the plywood slid forward, pushing the bricks down. Paul flew forward on his bike and landed directly on the support bar between the seat and the handlebars. Paul's bike was made for a boy. It had a very large solid bar straight from the handlebars to the seat, making it a less-than-comfortable landing place for a would-be daredevil. All I'm going to say is, I do believe Paul wished he had my "girl's" bike that day.
