The World on Two Wheels

I have always loved bicycles. It was something that to me, always seemed like my own little bit of freedom. I could get on and ride and ride. It would take me to places known and unknown.

I remember when I got my first new bike. I believe my Grandparents bought it for me. A very shiny red 2-wheeler that rode like a dream. It was smooth riding and had no mechanical problems !! One has to remember that the Village I lived in had no pavement whatsoever. The only pavement was the busy provincial highway that skirted the very outside limits of the Village and we were under very strict instructions not to venture on to it for any reason. Something smooth and level apparently was not a good enough reason to get on it. Oh how I wanted to get on there and experience a ride without running into ruts and gravel furrows !! I cannot say with a straight face that I actually obeyed the rules, as I did take a few spins on the shoulder and yes it was everything I thought it would be !! Smooth and level, I could really crank up my speed and let the wind roar !! It was indeed a rush for a little kid.

As far as bikes go, there is often the odd flat tire and I was really not old enough or smart enough to change out a tube. The tires then came with a tube inside of them and instead of having to change out the tire, you just bought a new tube and inserted it into the tire. Sounds pretty easy, but at the age of 10 or so it was not that easy.

My Grandfather during this time had prostrate cancer. He was not doing well, in fact he was dying. Dying faster then any of us wanted. I remember having a flat tire that I really needed to have fixed so I could go riding with my friends. My Grandfather said he would fix it. I was thrilled. Here was my dying Grandfather, in his pajamas and robe, probably not more then 100 pounds, sitting in his favorite green vinyl recliner rocker in the living room. He took that tire and took it off right there in his living room and put in a new tube and put it back on the rim. I guess I never seen the significance of it at the time, but I sure see it now. A dying man, wanting to instill some pleasure in his Grandchild. An unconditional love and a selfless act. He was in no condition to be doing that, but he wanted to. And he did.

So biking to me is not only a freedom, and a time to get away and think about the things of life, but a time to reflect back on the things that stand the test of time. A time to remember and be thankful for those who came into my life early and gave me something to build upon. One spoke at a time.