Where It All Started

Every year around this time I get a little nostalgic remembering the days of my youth. It must be the chill in the air that reminds me of those cold Midwestern mornings riding my bike. I fell in love with cycling at a very early age. When I was 3-years old I tried to ride my tricycle off the driveway into the street. Luckily my older brother stopped me…by grabbing my arm and accidentally breaking it…I must have been going fast! I was the youngest of seven children and when I needed an escape the bike was always willing to get me out of the house. Of course being the youngest also meant hand-me-down bikes and with mostly sisters I had a lot of step-thru “girls” bikes to ride. I didn’t care as long as it had wheels.

Then came a very special Christmas when everything changed. On Christmas morning there it was hidden behind the big chair in the living room…my very own 10 speed road bike! I flipped out! When you are used to hand me down clothes, toys and bikes a new anything is a reason to rejoice. When that new something is a bike you really thank the lucky stars. It was a yellow Free-Spirit from Sears. It was bright yellow and had black handlebar tape and stem mounted shifters (sure to impale one’s lungs in case of an accident).

To say I rode that bike is an understatement. I wore every bolt, cable and tire off that bike in the following years. I would wake up at 6:00 in the morning and wait for just enough sunlight so I could get out and ride. I would then circle through the neighborhood streets waiting for my friend’s lights to turn on signaling they were awake. At the end of the day I would race the sun to get home before the gas lamp lit on the corner of our yard. There was big trouble waiting for a 10-year old boy when he wasn’t home before dark.

Once I decided my little town wasn’t enough I started breaking the rules and crossing the bridge (a big no-no) into the next town. The bridge was very close to a highway and I was told to never go near the busy streets. I would anyway and I soon found myself little by little exploring new territory. The next town over wasn’t as nice as my town as the roads were a little rougher and the houses a lot smaller. I began to see a difference in lifestyles and economics. I started to really appreciate the hard work my mother was doing keeping us afloat in our part of town.

As with life there are ups and downs and one morning I woke up and my bike was gone. It was stolen from outside our house in the carport (dang I wish we had a garage). I was heartbroken and on top of that in trouble for not locking my bike. If my mother only knew how upset I was at myself I don’t think she would have buried me with further punishment. I had lost my freedom and my favorite bike. For days I hunted the streets hoping to catch a glimpse of my beautiful yellow machine. Even with the patches of missing handlebar wrap, wobbly wheels and shifter housing held down with electrical tape it was still beautiful to me.

I was back on my sister’s bike for the rest of the year. It was a 3-speed bike with coaster brakes. I was missing my speedy yellow machine with caliper brakes and road drop handlebars. Then on my birthday a new surprise was waiting for me in the living room. It was a Schwinn Phantom Mag Scrambler. I actually cried right there sitting on the glossy black bike. Even though we were struggling economically my Mom managed to find a way to buy me a nice bike. I was smarter with this bike and would bring it inside at night to keep unwanted hands off my machine.

I would like to think those moments are why I still ride a bike 30 years later. To me there is nothing better than owning a bike. It is part childhood, part escape, part fitness and a whole lot of fun. It’s small enough to store in the hallway yet big enough to change your life. My mom passed away years ago but I smile every time I think about the real meaning behind the gifts of cycling she gave me. I hope she knows how thankful I am for the independence, the fitness, the adventures and the great career. Thanks Mom!

Happy Holidays-TR Maloney