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A green bicycle was both a childhood burden and a ticket to adventure, carrying its young rider through cold school mornings and carefree summer afternoons.
The bike made the trip to elementary school every day, whether the weather brought rain, sunshine or even snow. Requests for a ride from Mom on especially frigid mornings went nowhere. Her message was simple: If you could breathe, you could pedal.
So off the rider went, often wearing a skirt and feeling more than a little mistreated. Books and homework rode in the basket up front. Because students went home for lunch, the daily routine involved four half-mile trips. It was hardly a 20-mile, shoeless trek through the snow, but some winter days made it feel that way.
A December photograph captured the rider and next-door neighbor Bonnie at age 10, bundled up and ready to leave. By then, bike and child seemed practically inseparable.
Summer transformed that same supposed instrument of torture into a passport to fun. A swimsuit could be packed for a ride across town and an afternoon at Rainbow Beach. On other days, the rider and a friend named Susie brought picnic lunches to Indian Mound, left their bikes at the bottom of its enormous hill and climbed to the top to eat while looking over the surrounding area. Afterward, they dug for Indian Beads and carried their finds home as treasures.
Any money remaining from a weekly 25-cent allowance could fund a quick trip to McCool’s Grocery for candy or ice cream. There was time to chat with Mrs. McCool, but the ice cream had to be finished before the return ride because the wind made it melt faster.
The bicycle also connected friends who lived farther apart. They could visit one another or meet at a chosen destination to explore, including the creek at the end of the block or the stables just beyond it.
Today, hills and heavy traffic can limit where children ride. Those restrictions also mean many young people miss the independence and everyday adventures that once came with two wheels and an open afternoon.