Story Weekend: Bicycle
What’s your favorite bicycle story? We’d love to hear about it!
If you’re new to Story Weekend, here’s how it works: I pick a theme and you share something from your life that relates to that theme, however you interpret it. Thanks to all of you who’ve contributed. As always, there are a few “rules”:
▪ The story must be true
▪ Try to keep it under 100 words. Embrace the challenge! That’s about six or seven lines in the comment form. I want others to read your story, and most people tend to skip if it’s too long. I know how tough it is to “write tight” but I hope you’ll accept this as a challenge.
Bicycles bring back a lot of memories. I remember always riding barefoot during the summer, which meant there was usually a rag tied on my big toe because my foot would slip off the pedals.
The real challenge though was the red dirt road beside our house. The road had…and still does…have two hills. The challenge was to get a good start on the hill beside the house and see if you could get to the top of the second higher hill coasting. I so remember coming down that higher hill, hitting a rut, and wiping out! Red dirt, blood and abrasions…lol
Do tandems count? My parents did all their courting on a tandem, and even went on honeymoon on their tandem! Dad was a keen cyclist all his life but Mum never actually learned to ride a bicycle on her own. They married in 1953 and are coming up to 62 years together. Sadly, aged 86 and 87 both now have Alzheimer’s but they are still happy. I commissioned a stained glass tandem for the front window of their new flat in a retirement village – it’s a conversation piece!
My husband, two friends and I rode the Chief Ladiga rails to trails a few years ago into the Silver Comet in Georgia. We rode 20 miles one day, spent the night in a hotel that would allow us to put our bikes in our room, and rode back 20 miles the next day. Beautiful scenery in a secluded asphalt trail that was once used for railroads. The biggest problem was on the Silver Comet we rode into a small Georgia town and I lost control, hit a curb and skinned my knee up pretty bad. Riding back was pretty rough!
I loved to ride my bicycle! Up the hill to the top, they zooming downhill!
Once I decided I would ride down w my feet on the handlebars and eyes closed!!! About halfway down my bike hit the backend of a parked car and I slid under the car purple bike and all!
The neighbors came to pull me out and take me home! Lucky me! No bones broken! Just scratched and bruised to match my bike! From then on, hands on handlebars and feet on pedals!
When my second grade teacher said to write a poem about something you love, I knew exactly what item I would select. Since this was right after Christmas, I had just fallen in love with my brand new Schwinn bicycle complete with banana seat, streamers in handles, and a daisy flower basket on the front. Like most things in the 70s, it was green. But unlike my brother’s tough skins I wore with eyelet Mom added on hem and matching jacket, this was not a hand me down! But spanking and sparkling brand new! Santa knew I was one of his biggest fans you know! I will never forget how proud and powerful I felt at age 7 to see my name and poem posted.
This poem will always be treasured by me:
I like to ride my bike.
I use to ride a trike.
Down the street to play.
Almost every day!!
When my second grade teacher said to write about something you loved, I knew exactly what item I was going to select. Like most things in the 70s, it was green. But unlike my brother’s Tough Skins I wore with eyelet lovingly sewed on the hem by my mom, it was not a hand me down! It was a spanking and sparkling brand new Schwinn bike complete with a daisy basket in front. I will never forget how powerful and proud I was even at age seven to see my poem not only printed but posted. This poem will always be treasured by me:
I like to ride my bike. I use to ride a trike. Down the street to
Play. Almost every day. In the years to come, I challenged my students to write about something they loved. But we posted all! Because I would say: Every one has a story but only
One author: YOU! Thanks for reading mine.
One day I rode my bike to the post office to get the mail for my parents. Later in the day I was going to ride bikes with my friends and I could not find my bike. I thought that my bike had been stolen because I could not find it anywhere. I found my bike still sitting at the post office. Yes, I am that dumb. I rode my bike there, but walked home.
I’ve had many days out riding my bike. But my most memorable day was when I was out on my own riding a circuit of about 8 miles. As I rode past a field of sheep and lambs I could hear a lamb bleating and the mother sheep replying but I didn’t take much notice. On my next time round about 30 minutes later I could hear the lamb and mother again. This time I took a look and saw a lamb with it’s head stuck through the fence, the lamb had the buds of it’s horns and the were stopping it’s head from going back. The problem was the ditch that was between me and the lamb. I rode to a nearby house but couldn’t raise anyone. So rode back to the field and then climbed over the locked gate, not easy in Look cleated shoes. I managed to get the lambs head out of the fence with that it ran straight to mum and began furiously suckling. I then went on to finish my circuits.
Wintertime. I was strapped, usually under protest, into an icy tartan seat on the back of the bike, to be transported to a different world. School. My Mum assured me that Nelly, the infant teacher was kind. But I was still full of trepidation. Our route took us through the woods. We only passed one house, the gamekeeper’s cottage and the road was generally deserted and a bit spooky. Dark branches hung over the road and an occasional pheasant would suddenly fly screeching from the undergrowth, startling me and Mum.
Later, when I graduated to my own bike, I rode home alone, pedalling as fast as I could. In my imagination strange beasts and stranger men were hiding behind trees, waiting to ambush me.
In addition to comments from a few previous contributors e.g. pedaling fast downhill, hoping to coast all the way up the next hill and taking my feet off the pedals while coasting and watching the empty pedals turning, we clipped a piece of cardboard onto a spoke with a clothespin and pretended to be riding a motorbike. I could still keep up with my children on a bike but when the grandchildren came along, I was never able to adapt to the tiny seats on today’s bikes.
My bicycle memory is kind of bittersweet. I am the oldest of four children. My dad’s college days were interrupted by WWII where he was a pilot of B-17’s and flew missions over Germany. Therefore, he graduated later than some his age. He went to podiatry school and by the time he was ready to set up a practice, all four of us had arrived. Things were very tight financially, but he wanted very badly to buy me a bicycle for my birthday one year. He and I set off to get one only to return home empty handed because he just couldn’t afford it. He was so sad about it. I am sure he felt worse than I did. Happily, I did get a bicycle a few years later.
My best friend had just learned to ride a bike, and we were ready for her to try going down the big hill. I went first, stopped at the bottom of the hill and waited for her. I was astide my bike and watched as she crashed into me. We sprawled in the road bruised and scraped. Her mother pointed out that braking lessons would be helpful.
It was a lovely sunny day and my mother and I decided to take a bike ride (I was about five). We were nearing a bit of a bumpy pathway and my mum called to me to slow down or get of my bike and walk. Did I listen? No.
I rode full speed over the bump, went flying over the handlebar of my bike and flew into the nearest wall, smashing my face in as I did so. There was blood EVERYWHERE. I ended up being rushed to hospital, but all was fine and dandy.
Moral of the story; Listen to your parents, they have your best interested at heart, Ha-ha
I know I am a week late with this, but this just happened on Friday. I decided I could still ride a bike. And I can…but I had raised the seat on my Granddaughter’s bike. As I was turning to come back to the house, I misjudged the turn and and put my foot down to stop….only the seat was too high and I fell right over… At 57, you should know, that it hurts a lot worse to fall down than it did at 10. lol OUCH… Friday was not too bad, but today I am so stiff and sore. I was also afraid that I had hurt my new (2 years old) hip…Lucky nothing broken except maybe my ego a little.