I Miss My Bike

Yesterday on the way back to the city, I spied a minivan loaded down with luggage, children, and lots of bikes. Ah, family vacation. I'm pretty sure the mood in that vehicle was vastly different on the return than it was on the outbound trip! If they were anything like MY family, they were most likely all sitting there, silent, tired, and stewing with the resentment and rage that could only be nurtured by a family spending 24/7 together outside their comfort zone. Ah, good times!

Back to my bike.

I had the dopest 10-speed EVER. My first bike was a pink Huffy. When I got older, of course I wanted the Huffy 10-speed for girls, which my friends had. But which I did not. I reached readiness for a 10-speed during the height of the Pancake Days. Of course, this did not stop me from begging for it endlessly.

My birthday that year came and went with no bike. I was disappointed. Not only would I be stuck riding my OLD (though pink!) Huffy, but I would continue to labor under the single-gear regime young bike riders are forced to endure until they graduate to bigger, better bikes WITH GEARS. Still, I held out hope that I would get the bike for Christmas.

Christmas Eve came and I was very anxious about whether I would get my bike. I wanted it so badly, I couldn't sleep. I passed what seemed like hours with my new Speak 'n' Spell (a gift from Dad - a Divorced Kid Perk: Two Christmases!), until the robotic voice echoing down the stairs became too much for my mother to handle and I was forced into a Lights Out.

The next morning saw Steve and I waiting impatiently at the top of the steps until my mom and my step-dad were ready for us to come down. That was torture, let me tell you. Sitting up there, knowing our presents were DOWN 12 MEASLEY STAIRS, tortured by the smell of the turkey in the oven...

She called us down the stairs and we trampled down like a herd of buffalo. There it was, in my spot to the right of the tree, my beautiful purple Sweet 16 10-speed bike! It had PINK handle-bars (oh, the sweet curves of a 10 speed!), a matching PINK seat AND PINK TIRES!!! I wanted to ride it immediately.

She wasn't a brand-name thoroughbred, but I didn't care. She was PURPLE and PINK and had the words SWEET 16 painted on! We quickly settled into a very simpatico relationship, Sweet 16 and I. We were Meant To Be.

I wasn't exactly a fearless rider, since I had once been hit by a car on my pink Huffy (or so I think. I don't remember anything about it. One minute I'm exiting the cul-de-sac, riding into the sun, the next minute I'm 30 feet back into the cul-de-sac with my bike on top of me, my head and neck on the curb, and Mike Baynes' grandmom shaking me awake. I had a Fred Flintstone bump and absolutely no recollection of what had happened to me. Hey, at least I got a day off from school! The car thing is a theory. I very well could have been kidnapped by aliens.). I never was brave enough to learn how to ride with no hands. G could ride with no hands.

We would ride bikes around the development (HUGE deal when you were a kid) and sing this REALLY STUPID, yet completely hilarious song about where vaginas were made. And no, I will not sing it for you. Some things should remain in the past! Little did I know that my time with Sweet 16 would be shorter than any of us could anticipate! (<---Foreshadowing.)

One warm, sunny afternoon, G and I decided to ride our bikes up to CVS, which was about a mile away, maybe less. I asked my mom if I could go and she initially said no, since dinner would be ready soon. I promised to be back by dinner time, and whined that I absolutely HAD TO BUY PANTENE CONDITIONER FOR PERMED/COLOR-TREATED HAIR since I was out and GOD FORBID I NEGLECT MY PERM. She let me go.

The ride up was mostly uneventful despite the dangerous crossings of busy roads and intersections. It was a mere left, right, left until we would be there, pulling into the ACME parking lot. G was in the lead and I followed behind.

Something went terribly awry. Ok, I did something stupid. G put her hand out, looked over her shoulder to the right and the left, and then crossed when she was clear to do so. I merely followed her like a dumb sheep.

The next thing I know, I look over to my left belatedly and hear tires screeching, a horn, and see a terrible look on a young woman's face as her car HEADS DIRECTLY AT ME. Uh oh! In order to avoid a collision, I veered right onto the shoulder, JUST AS SHE DID. I don't know why, but I hit my breaks and her car smacked straight into the back of my sweet Sweet 16. Over the PINK handle-bars I went. I somehow managed to escape certain death with only a few scratches on my palms, which I had put to the ground to avoid raking my face on the street.

All of a sudden, the young woman gets out of her car, another woman comes running out of the back of a house right along the road and I am LAUGHING MY FUCKING ASS OFF.

Seriously, I could not stop laughing to save my life. The woman who came running from the house told me she had already called 911, was telling me to sit down, ignoring my assurances of "No, really, I'm fine..." I'm not too aware of where G was at this point, I know she was with me, but I was too busy fretting over the possibility of an ambulance coming to check on little ol' me, that I can't really recall. I heard sirens and just had this sinking feeling in my gut.

The police arrived before the ambulance did. Of course, by this point, dinner had already started at my house. I was half expecting my mom to drive up at any point just to yell at me for being late. As it was, the policeman who took down the report drove me and my BROKEN SWEET 16 back to my house.

Poor Sweet 16. Her gorgeous, PINK rear wheel was folded completely in half. The officer brought me up to the door, through which I could see my family already eating. I came into the house and my mom went out to talk to him. I remember her being very calm and not really reacting to the whole situation. She came back to the table and I ate my dinner and that was that.

I never rode Sweet 16 again. She was relegated to the basement, where she collected dust and served as a reminder every time I went down into the basement to do some laundry or play pool. Her sad, bent wheel reminded me of better days; riding around the block, singing songs about where vaginas were made, young and without a care in the world.

But she taught me a very valuable lesson, my Sweet 16...

FOR CHRISSAKES, LOOK LEFT!!!