My first bike...

There have been two times in my life when my clothing taste was "fashionable". I can assure you that when I achieved this wondrous state, it was completely unintentional.

Once was when the country went mad and decided bell-bottom jeans were a good idea. As someone who HAD to wear them because the local Penneys sold them cheaper than straight-leg, let me assure you they were not, are not, and will not be a good idea.

The second time I looked fashionable was when people thought old-looking jeans were a good idea.

See, my clothes had to last. For a long, long time. So they tended to fade and get holes in them. Of course, unlike the sheep...err, fashion-conscious crowd, I did not have to spend extra money to get that faded, holey look to my jeans. My pants actually WERE faded and full of holes.

But at least the look was popular if unintentional.

Now, one might wonder how I, of all people, got holes in my pants. I have always been a voracious reader (as was my eldest sister at one time). It was so bad that one summer, Mom and Dad banned Sue and I from the library and insisted we go outside and play some to get some exercise.

Ironically, I did get a lot of exercise playing baseball, basketball, and even occasionally football with some of my childhood friends, but that is for another comedic piece. This one is about my first bicycle.

It was blue. It was a dirt bike style, sort of and it was the mother of all hand me downs.

Grandma Alda, the one who lived about a mile from my current home, lived in a "Senior's Trailer Park" where you had to be something like 55 or older. Well, someone left a bike in her front yard for several months so it became my older sisters.

After she got a new ten speed, I got my first bike. And what a bike it was. 

It was a blue "dirt bike". It had no chain guard, the handlebars were stripped so had an unfortunate tendency to flip forwards at the most inconvenient times, and the brakes were...well, questionable at best.

Now, a normally intelligent person would have taken great care with such a "fine" piece of machinery. I mean, the combination of bell-bottom pants and no chain guard alone was more than enough to develop the afore-mentioned holes in my pants.

I actually became an expert at finding places to crash. Whenever my pant legs got caught in the chain I knew I was going to crash. It was just the cost of riding that bike which I did love to do. So I would try to maintain my balance until finding (hopefully) a nearby grassy place. 

Barring that, I would find gravel as it was still better than wiping out on the pavement. I got more rocks buried in my knees...

Of course, I was not content to just get my pant legs caught...I had to do dumber stuff.

Like, we would make jumps of firewood and plywood. You would think that having handlebars that were stripped would keep me from jumping. After all, there was the possibility that they would not hold, would spin over frontwards thus leading me to a painful crash.

Now go back and read that paragraph again, this time replacing  the word "possibility" with the words "virtual certainty".

This was before kids had to wear shin guards and elbow pads and helmets to ride a bike, allow me to point out.

So now you have a picture of a guy wearing ripped, faded bell bottom jeans riding a bike that crashed every 15-20 minutes still somehow deciding it was a good idea to pop wheelies, jump ramps, and...well, just ride the bike in general.

I think of someone that intelligent, there is just one thing worth being said.

Remember my name and vote for me...