My first bike was a pink and purple one brought home by my dad from our neighbour, a nice round-bellied man who fixed and sold old bikes from his corner garage. His sweet kindness has coloured my opinion of bike-fixers and tinkerers ever since. Everyone who owns a bike shop is automatically the nicest person in the world. I think I must have been about 7 or 8 at the time, or maybe even younger. I was certainly at an age where training wheels are still acceptable. Eventually I became embarrassed by them and asked my dad to take them off, at which point I refused to attempt to ride the bike any longer. I had a distinct lack of faith in the possibility of such a strange, rail-thin, two-wheeled thing to bear me anywhere.
It took a long, long time for me to come around. At 16 (16! I know, I know), I finally felt ready and bought an old-fashioned green bike from the flea market, with a high seat and a sturdy metal basket (a rarity on Canadian bikes) as well as a fine, clangy bell. That summer I took it for a few slow, wobbly attempts on the sidewalk at the bottom of our driveway, but found it impossible to ignore the threat of car after car passing by. Finally one day I (or my mum) had the bright idea of partaking myself to the track of a school down the road where, after a trip into the ditch, I finally got the hang of it. I rode it to high school every day after that, my beloved bike, although not without the occasional learning curve (such as figuring out how to pass people without going into the hedge).
Discovering the speed and joy and freedom of riding high up on that sturdy green bike has been one of the finest things I have done so far in this life. I rode everywhere for the next two years, miles and miles up and down country roads, to neighbouring towns, past orchards, lakes and corn fields, and along the bike path in my hometown. This, my first and favourite bike, eventually developed a bit of a tricky brake problem I wasn’t able to fix, and currently lives in my dad’s basement. I have a bit more knowledge of such things now, though, so I hope I can repair it soon.
My next bike was blue, bought for twenty dollars in Montreal. I seldom rode it, though, as I soon moved to Toronto, and gave it to a friend before I moved to Sweden last summer. Unfortunately, she got into a mishap with it the first time she was out. She and the bike were both fine, more or less, but I never have had, nor do I now, much taste for riding in Toronto. I’m so glad whenever I’m in Sweden, in this fine small town where the roads are bordered by both sidewalks and bike lanes, where you can get anywhere you need to by bike.
When I moved here I was a bit desperate for a bicycle and so I bought the very first one I could find, a lovely bright yellow machine with studded winter tires that was in fact much too big for me. It was extremely difficult to resume momentum once I had stopped, resulting in some tricky manoeuvrings wherein I tried to avoid braking as much as possible. Perhaps it was more luck than bad fortune that this bike was stolen after a couple of weeks. It had been quite expensive and I was upset, and went without a bike for the next week or two, walking everywhere, even as far as the IKEA, about 8 km through farmers’ fields, where, one fateful day, I stumbled upon several unlocked, abandoned-looking bikes. I know, I know. These bikes were probably stolen and left in the field. Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken one, but it seemed such a small chance that the original owner would ever find their bike again, and they might not even care to, since these were rather old and rickety looking. There was one nice one, though, a little turquoise Mustang with a white seat and handlebars that I took home, cleaned up, and have been riding ever since.
I love this bike and I love riding around Uppsala more than almost anything. This is an awfully long post, but part of my new blog-idea, in which I spend time writing longer things for this blog. I have some good posts coming up, about this little town, about recipes and things I’ve cooked and books I’ve read.
<3 Dawn
It took a long, long time for me to come around. At 16 (16! I know, I know), I finally felt ready and bought an old-fashioned green bike from the flea market, with a high seat and a sturdy metal basket (a rarity on Canadian bikes) as well as a fine, clangy bell. That summer I took it for a few slow, wobbly attempts on the sidewalk at the bottom of our driveway, but found it impossible to ignore the threat of car after car passing by. Finally one day I (or my mum) had the bright idea of partaking myself to the track of a school down the road where, after a trip into the ditch, I finally got the hang of it. I rode it to high school every day after that, my beloved bike, although not without the occasional learning curve (such as figuring out how to pass people without going into the hedge).
Discovering the speed and joy and freedom of riding high up on that sturdy green bike has been one of the finest things I have done so far in this life. I rode everywhere for the next two years, miles and miles up and down country roads, to neighbouring towns, past orchards, lakes and corn fields, and along the bike path in my hometown. This, my first and favourite bike, eventually developed a bit of a tricky brake problem I wasn’t able to fix, and currently lives in my dad’s basement. I have a bit more knowledge of such things now, though, so I hope I can repair it soon.
My next bike was blue, bought for twenty dollars in Montreal. I seldom rode it, though, as I soon moved to Toronto, and gave it to a friend before I moved to Sweden last summer. Unfortunately, she got into a mishap with it the first time she was out. She and the bike were both fine, more or less, but I never have had, nor do I now, much taste for riding in Toronto. I’m so glad whenever I’m in Sweden, in this fine small town where the roads are bordered by both sidewalks and bike lanes, where you can get anywhere you need to by bike.
When I moved here I was a bit desperate for a bicycle and so I bought the very first one I could find, a lovely bright yellow machine with studded winter tires that was in fact much too big for me. It was extremely difficult to resume momentum once I had stopped, resulting in some tricky manoeuvrings wherein I tried to avoid braking as much as possible. Perhaps it was more luck than bad fortune that this bike was stolen after a couple of weeks. It had been quite expensive and I was upset, and went without a bike for the next week or two, walking everywhere, even as far as the IKEA, about 8 km through farmers’ fields, where, one fateful day, I stumbled upon several unlocked, abandoned-looking bikes. I know, I know. These bikes were probably stolen and left in the field. Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken one, but it seemed such a small chance that the original owner would ever find their bike again, and they might not even care to, since these were rather old and rickety looking. There was one nice one, though, a little turquoise Mustang with a white seat and handlebars that I took home, cleaned up, and have been riding ever since.
I love this bike and I love riding around Uppsala more than almost anything. This is an awfully long post, but part of my new blog-idea, in which I spend time writing longer things for this blog. I have some good posts coming up, about this little town, about recipes and things I’ve cooked and books I’ve read.
<3 Dawn
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