The Bicycle

This is the story of a lone little blue bicycle and the pursuit of freedom. The bicycle was plucked from a yard sale down the street from where I lived in Thornton Colorado in 2004. It was a 1930’s Montgomery Ward – Hawthorne. A single speed blue framed bike with chrome fenders wide handles and a seriously old school leather saddle seat. It had belonged to the mother of the older gentlemen that I bought if from for fifteen dollars. He told me, as I peddled away, that he hoped I loved it as much as his mother always had.

I was in love. It was a slightly rusty but spunky little bike with flare and personality. Old and spunky, just like me. I added a little wire framed basket and peddled to my hearts content down the trails at several nearby parks, to the community pool and around the neighborhood. I have always believed that riding a bike is a direct way to recapture your youthful outlook and exuberance for life. How many stories could this bike tell me? How many life events had it seen over the last seventy years. I realized that I loved it more for all of its dents and signs of age.

Every once in a while a flashy new bike would catch my eye but it was just a passing glance. It was a momentary spark of interest in everything shiny and new. It would be nice to have saddle bags to hold all of the picnic gear and fishing poles on our family bike rides. I have a tendency to fill my basket so full that as I take a corner the weight of it about tips me over. Then I laugh and think that all those water bottles are just helping to build up my biceps on the turns. I pat my bike and keep on peddling with a big smile. I don’t need a fancy schmancy bike this one suits me perfectly.

We ended up going to a bike shop to pick up new tires for all four of the family bicycles (we took a ride through a goat head sprinkled shortcut and popped them all) and I absolutely fell head over heels in love with the old school beach cruisers. I dreamed about them. Drooled on them in the perfect little rows of shiny paint, metal and pin stripping. I felt daydreamed wind blowing through my hair on big white-rimmed bouncy tires all bright and shiny and chromed to the max. I decided that when the time was right I would set aside my little blue Montgomery ward, thank it for all the good times we had and splurge on my dream bike, a green and pink vision with white Hawaiian pin striping.

Then my health took a nosedive. Then we moved. All the while my little blue bike would occasionally catch the light in the garage in its chrome fenders. I would gaze at it and think of the trails. Then on a bright and sunny Sunday it got moved into the back yard under the deck to make more room in the garage. It gathered a little more rust over the next year. Each time I would tenderly step down the steps into the backyard babying my little feet I would stare through the slats of the deck at it and feel a tug of longing. It started to stand for all that I had lost over the last year. The exercise restrictions, the pain…. All I wanted to do was ride my darn bike! And then it would look back at me like a gentle grandmother and whisper wisdom and patience and I would set aside my temper tantrum and think positive thoughts and swear that I would come out the next day and rub off a little of the rust.

Winter goes by and spring is looming. The whole family enjoys a nice walk on the trail in the sunshine. An older gentlemen floats by on a generic looking ten-speed with a frame that resembled dental floss and my almost forgotten blue friend jumps to the forefront of my mind. It’s creaking its little rusty chain saying, “Hey remember me?!?” That’s it! I may tenderly waddle my way down the trail in the sunshine but I bet it would feel like I was flying even at a gentle speed on my bike! It has been so long since I have been able to move quickly doing anything. There is no running, no sprinting, and no bouncing for me right now. Just careful cautious steps. This will be a form a freedom that I have not had in a very very long time.

I kicked around the idea of buying a new bike. Let’s face it; even a three speed would be preferable to a one speed. I could use a little bit of mechanical help. My hubby has known for a long time of my beach cruiser dream. Unfortunately this was not the time for such a purchase. So I started asking if he could help me give it a little tune up. If we could put some new handlebar grips on it and a new seat that wasn't all ripped up. He said sure. In my head I could see my bike give a little shudder and drop off the spider webs, dew and a few leaves in anticipation. The trail was calling to us both.

I am upstairs cleaning house several days later. My husband is in the garage cleaning (or at least I thought he was cleaning.) and he comes up and starts asking me if I have any spray paint laying around…

Long story short, my sweet sweet sweet husband stripped my bike apart sanded everything down and ended up painting my frame a nice deep purple, my fenders, handlebars and my rims a glossy black. He bought me two shiny new white walled beach cruiser tires. Unfortunately, we had to take the fenders back off to accommodate the new tire size but my hubby is still working on that problem. I now have a bell, a basket, and a rear view mirror, jelly saddle seat and a bright blue bike helmet.

My little Montgomery ward bicycle got a makeover courtesy of a truly kind and sweet husband. I peeked down into he garage during the process and saw my eldest son wiping down my chain with brake cleaner chatting away with his father about how much Mom was going to love her bike and maybe they should paint flames on it. My youngest thought that butterflies might be more appropriate.

What a wonderful gift from my men and it was all for me. I even got to help with the painting. My heart felt warm and fuzzy and special. It’s been three days since it’s been done and although I have peddled around the cul-de-sac, the rain and hail has been pouring so steadily and so hard that I have not been able to take to the trail.

But we are ready and waiting… ready to feel the wind and the freedom of movement.
My seventy-year-old friend has been given new life and I feel like I am about to as well.