I had three bikes when I was a kid, from the time I learned to ride, all the way through high school. Those three bikes took me on every jaunt I would take around the city of Dayton. I rode them everywhere.
The first one was my favorite of the three. I can’t even begin to tell you how old and beat up that bike was. It had been blue at one time. Some of the paint could still be seen. Kids these days call things “phat” when they are cool or good. Well, this poor bike was “gaunt” at best.
But I loved that bike because the family said it was mine. It was a boy’s bike, and I’m sure that four of my siblings had used that poor thing to the fullest. It had a bare bones frame and a sagging chain by the time I got it. Not for the faint of heart. And yet? I washed it and wiped it down at least once a week. I always kept a fresh playing card in its spokes.
And I rode it all over tarnation.
Around my tenth birthday, I asked for a new bike. It was a wish that would come back to haunt me later. At Christmas that year, my wish came true. Yes. A new bike, tawny in color with a banana seat and a horn. I never liked that thing, but I never let on, either. My first bike was given away to a neighbor kid. I missed it dearly.
My third bike came in high school. We went to Whitman’s Bike Shop, and I was allowed to pick out a reasonable ten-speed. My choice was a deep blueish-purple number. I held on to that bike well into my adulthood. It took me around the college campus of Butler University in rain, sleet, and snow. And when I moved back to Dayton, I had to ride it into work a few times when my car wouldn’t start.
I’m thankful for all three. But it was that first bike that will always be closest to my heart. Rusty rimmed tires and all.
====>
later
tawny
faint
gaunt
haunt
jaunt
daunt
