We just got back from spending a week in Florida. The place we stayed had beach bikes available. This was the first time I had ridden a bicycle in 20 years. I wanted to ride one of the three Hot Rod Yellow bikes available. The gear was stripped on the first bike I selected and the pedals didn’t work. The chain was off the second and the third had two flat tires. So much for the Hot Rod Yellow. I settled on a nice green one, instead. As I was putting the others back as I had found them and was closing up the shed, my mind wandered back to the fourth grade and the first time I ever rode my bike to school. I pulled into the school yard, parked my bike in the rack, locked it up, unstrapped my books and went inside. All day long I kept pulling the key to the lock out of my pocket and looking at it on the keychain my father had given me. The feeling was incredible. My mother had not brought me to school. I had not ridden the bus. I had ridden my bike and after school, I was going to go out and unlock it and ride it home. I felt like a real grown up.
And, the old adage about learning to ride a bike is true. Once you learn how, you never forget. The last time I rode a bicycle was a beach bike in the mid-90’s at my brother in law’s place in Panama City. The bikes they owned were all “girls” bikes, and before I go any further, let me say that in my humble opinion, ALL beach bikes should be “girls” bikes. You step right through and get on on the seat. Frankly, I never really understood the bar on the “boys” bikes. The first time I ever hurt myself in a way only a boy can hurt himself I slipped off the pedal while going up a hill and hit the bar. I had to sit on the curb and wait until I could move so I could go home and have my parents take me to the emergency room. Eventually however, the agony subsided and I went on my way.
Incidentally, one of my favorite pictures of Jackie (and there are many) is of her on a beach bike. She’s hot, and I don’t mean from the humidity…
My brother in law’s beach bikes were all equipped with baskets as well. No, not the little wicker ones with flowers, but real baskets, perfect for holding a twelve pack of beer. We used to get sent to the grocery store on the bikes and very seldom, if ever, went straight there and back. One time we stopped off at the daiquiri shack and after several, worked up the courage to go up for a helicopter ride which was next door. Another time we stopped off at Hooters where they were having the “Hooters Olympics”. These games involved hula hoop contests, wheelbarrow races, races on those big orange bouncy balls… you get the picture. We were appalled and after three or four beers apiece, left in disgust.
No helicopter rides or Hooters Olympics this time, however. Just a nice, quiet ride around town. I did stop off for a beer at a local watering hole. Then, I climbed back on my green beach bike and continued on… Still Cruisin’! –J.
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