That First Christmas Bike

My first bike was not gifted for Christmas. It was beat up and old even in its day. Hard plastic tires fading yellow plastic seat, white rims and spokes, with a brown painted frame that seamed to hide the birth of rust well. No training wheels it was at first glance nothing special. But it was definitely something special, it was my first bike. With no training wheels my first ride was not the marathon on the lake that El Maya endured but it was freedom unleashed in a way that can only be felt.

Two Christmas bikes.

The Red Huffy BMX 1000 was my first bike that was under the tree so to speak. Tomato red, black pleated seat, chrome bmx bars with a “v” crossbar. Black and white checkered pads on bars, frame, and gooseneck. Silver rims, with motocross looking square knob tires. No hand brakes, just the coaster. When I saw that thing I was transformed on the spot. I had graduated, from the beat up old brown to the new red hotness. Now, I had a bike that could stand up to the rigors of an all day adventure, or just a ride down to the big blue corner store Barbaro’s. Later it became apparent to me the favorite candy store for the local youth, was also the favorite liquor store for those a little bit older needing a different kind of candy. Barbaro’s was farther away than the gas station owned by the grandfather of my friend Bill Bass. Far enough that I needed special permission to go there for candy. The trails were closer and I could go there whenever I pleased. So fortunately for me teeth that’s where I usually went.

The second Christmas bike was a Murray BMX bike. Smoked chrome frame black pads and a rear hand brake, with the grips that had the little raised bumps and the holes in the bottom. Dad set that brake up right, and then sent me on my way to the land of powerskids. According to Bill Bass, the local bmx older dude down the steet, all bmx tires at that time were named after an animal of sorts. The only two I remember were the monkey paw, and the snake belly. If you rode a bmx bike in 1981 and got your tires from KMart then you probably remember those tires. I rode the monkey paw because it was designed for better traction, at least that was what Bill Bass said and for me, back then his word on bikes was gospel. I mean that guy could pop a wheelie all the way down the block, clearly he knew what he was talking about.

Walnut St. was for me a Tour de France of sorts. To travel up and down the street was my spring classic. At the end of the street was ‘the woods’. I would ride up and down those trails that now, in hind sight would take about five minutes total, for hours on end. Down the hill with the sewer grate jump, through the mud pit, left towards the swamp pit and tall weeds, right back towards the house. It was that section back to the house that held the tastiest of the singletrack. The never to muddy to ride, twisting flowing trail that even back then I knew was a small piece of something special. But, the good trail led past the local bully’s house. If I rode fast enough, George could never catch me. I was a ghost and he never knew I used the trail that emptied into the side of his front yard. On the off day that I walked or ran I may have paid the price by being forced to wade through the creek. But on the bike I was unstoppable. Not once did he catch me, cause I knew that trail like the back of my hand, I had to…I had no choice. That was how I cut my teeth. Who knew back then that being chased by bullies in the woods would be my entrance to this world two wheels and two triangles propelled by a chain that we now know.