August 2004 The Megaphone Page 4
by Jane Ann (Seright) Lemen
"My"
bicycle was one year older than I was.
That's why I say "my" bicycle. My brother had received the bike for
Christmas when he was ten years old. The next Christmas he received a baby
sister. He always said he had hoped for a cocker spaniel for Christmas that
year, but got me instead.
The bicycle, when new, was a beautiful thing. I remember looking at a picture
Dad had taken of Vic riding his shiny new bike on Christmas Day. I'm not sure
what color it originally was, (the picture was in black and white, of course)
but I think it was red.
This was before the days when bicycles had "speeds." The
"speed" of bikes back then was determined by the kid riding them. The
brakes were in the pedals. And to "motorize" a bike, you clipped a
playing card against the spokes.
The bike had a magic appeal to me, partly because it represented my big brother
who I idolized. Vic would park it along side the front porch, and if I was
careful, I could get on the banister and then slip onto the bike leaning against
it. Then I would pretend to be riding. No longer was I bound to the sidewalk
along North 12th Street as I was by my tricycle. In my imagination, I had all
the streets and walkways of all of Elwood available to me, about as big a world
as I could imagine at age 5. I could ride downtown; I could ride to Grandma and
Grandpa's on East Main Street; if I pretended hard enough I could even escape
Elwood and ride to Anderson where Dad worked.
Of course, in reality, the bike never moved. I didn't have a clue how to ride
it. I just sat on my big brother's bike and dreamed.
Over the years, the bike took a licking. It finally wound up sitting in the
garage with the spokes of both wheels broken, the handlebars bent, the seat and
pedals missing, and the fenders stolen. (For our younger readers, yes, bikes had
fenders. Cars even had fender skirts.)
It was about that time that we moved one block west to North 11th Street. I was
finishing up second grade, and Vic was halfway through college. And it was
decided that I could have the bike.
In site of the bike's condition and the fact I couldn't ride it, I was thrilled.
Dad sat down with me, and we went through a Sears Roebuck catalogue, picking out
the things I would need. Basically we had only the framework left. We
ordered new wheels and tires, new handlebars, new pedals, and a new seat. I
think we got new fenders too. My memory says they were black. And as a special
gift for me, we added a basket.
It may seem strange in the abundance of later years to fix up the old bike
instead of ordering a new one. But in 1950 we were still coming out of the War
and Reconstruction of Europe and Japan. And before the war had been the
seemingly endless Depression. People made do with what they had and patched
things up.
It was an exciting day when the package from Sears finally arrived. There was
one major disappointment -- the basket was huge. It turned out to be very useful
for carrying groceries and other items, including a dog or two, but it was also
the object of teasing and ridicule.
Then came the task of learning to ride it. Since it had been bought for my
brother, it was a "boy's bike." At first I tried to ride it by
inserting my leg under the cross bar. That didn't work at all. But with
practice, Dad's help, and many a tumble, I finally mastered the balancing act.
It took awhile longer for me to learn how to get the bike going by myself. I'd
put my left foot on the pedal, then push along on the ground with my right foot
until it got going fast enough that I felt confident to swing my right leg over
the seat and actually mount it. Sometimes that process took half a block to
accomplish.
But, oh the ecstasy of riding the bike! There was no greater thrill than sailing
away with the wind blowing through my hair on that bike! I was no longer
confined to Elwood in my imagination now. I could be on horseback, galloping
across the plains. I could be flying. I could be any place in the world. I could
even pretend to be riding an elephant or a camel in some far away clime. Mostly
though the bike was a horse.
The streets of the northwest Elwood were now available. I never went off of 11th
or 12th Streets without my mother's permission, but I could ride the bike to
Washington School on nice days. I could ride out to my best friend's home on the
far end of North 9th Street. I could ride to the Standard Grocery on Main Street
for Mom. The huge basket came in handy on those trips.
My greatest thrill while riding the bike was one I never told my parents about.
I'd ride to the top of the railroad embankment where North 12th street jogs
after crossing D Street. Coming down from the tracks onto D Street, you could
work up a pretty good speed. While riding down that hill, I'd gather my feet
under me and crouch on the seat. I never let go of the handlebars and I never
straightened my legs. It was great fun but incredibly dangerous. If any of my
four kids had ever pulled a stunt like that, I would have taken their bikes away
and grounded them for a month!
Then the day came when I too left for college. When I returned, I discovered
that "my" bicycle had been passed on to my brother's son. Where it is
now I don't know, perhaps in a corner of a garage, perhaps in a junk yard. But
that bike, plus the serenity of a small town like Elwood, gave me great memories
of growing up in a very special time and a very special place.
Submitted by ...
Jane Ann (Seright) Lemen '59