Bicycle! Bicycle! Part 2

That night after I had taken my inaugural ride and phoned my friends, my dad told his story over the dinner table.

"We've been looking for a bike for you for a long time now," he started.

"You have?!" I interrupted, "Why didn't you tell me? I would've stopped bugging you."

"Bugging us?" he replied, "You mean we wouldn't have had to listen to all your whining and nagging? You would've stopped? No, you would've kept it up til you got it."

"No I wouldn't have," I pouted.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" he asked and continued, "Anyway, we've been looking for a long time. There wasn't a ten-speed to be found in town. I even checked into ordering one for you, but the owner of that hardware store wanted all the money up front," he turned and looked at me, "Never pay all the money up front, especially if you haven't seen the merchandise," he looked down at his plate and continued, "Now where was I? Oh yeah. So I went to all the hardware stores and the sporting goods store. Nothing. Then today, I'm walking down Fourth Street, coming up on Coast-to-Coast Hardware, and I see this guy wheeling out your ten-speed. I grabbed it before he could even park it outside the store, wheeled it inside and asked, 'Who's gonna sell me this bike?' The owner came walking up. 'We just put that out there,' he says. 'I know, and I want to buy it,' I tell him. 'Well, it's eighty dollars.' Eighty dollars," he paused, "That's a lot of money."

"I know," I replied, "Thanks, Dad."

"Thank your mother, too. She's as much a part of this as me, you know."

"Thank you, Mom."

"... and before you go thinking that a thank you is all you're in for," he continued, "You'll be taking out the trash, now. That's your responsibility. You'll make sure to empty all the house trash on trash night and get it all out to the curb. OK?"

"Sure!" I replied, "No problem."

"Better not be," he continued, "Eighty dollars is a lot of money, but they say Columbia is a good brand; so you should have this bike for a long time," he turned and looked at me again, "If you're going to spend a lot of money on something, be sure it's good quality," he paused, "or something you really, really want and will use a lot and take care of. Your mom and I really, really wanted to get you a new bike. I just can't believe that today I was just walking down the street, and it showed up right in front of me. You are the proud owner of the ONLY ten-speed for sale in this town."

I smiled,, said more thanks yous, promised to take out the trash, and somehow got wrangled into dishwasher, vacuuming, and babysitting duties, too. My parents were always good at delegating. They were also very good at teaching me that if I wanted something I'd have to work for it, preferably without whining. I smiled some more thinking about how I had whined, begged, nagged, and negotiated til I got my way.

"What are you smiling about," my mom asked me.

"I don't know."

"I swear," she exhaled, "If I had a nickle for every time you say, 'I don't know'. OK, well you can load the dishwasher. We're all done here, right?"

Dad and I nodded. Mom got up and started to take my two-year-old brother with her.

Before she left the room, she turned to me and said, "Honey, you've had a pretty rough time for a lot of years with all your times in the hospital and all. I'm glad the surgery worked. You're doing so much better now. I know that it was hard to keep up with your friends on your Sting Ray, too. It makes us happy to be able to do things for you and get you the things you need. I just wanted you to know that. We love you."

"I know," I responded and looked down at my lap.

"We'll love you even more once you have the dinner dishes taken care of," my dad teased, "Oh! ... and it's Trash Night!"

He got up laughing and turned on the TV that was right in the same room. I rolled my eyes and got to work. We could all hear my little brother screaming as Mom tried to get him into the tub. Dad and I rolled our eyes and laughed until Mom called for Dad to take over. She came out into the family room/dining room, looked at me and flopped down on the couch. While I cleaned up the dinner dishes, we talked and laughed.

The next day when my friends showed up at my house to pick me up for our ride to rehearsal, we all had to take a moment to admire my new bike. Everyone approved. Everybody was awed by my parents' willingness to spend so much money. Karl was especially impressed that Dad bought the bike without even asking how much it cost. We were working class kids who were constantly educated about making money last, spending it wisely, and going without when needed. After we'd stood in my driveway for a bit too long, we took off with me in the lead. We had so much fun riding to rehearsal that day. We thought we might be late, so we raced as fast as we could. It was AWESOME!

Arriving early at the campus, I realized that I didn't have a lock. We all cracked up. I was able to lock my bike up with Shawn's, so no problem; but we knew what our next campaign would be. Good thing it was much cheaper and very practical.

That summer, when I wasn't going to rehearsal with my friends, I spent a good deal of time alone. Being a creative child, I often found things to occupy my time; like taking apart my ten-speed and putting it back together. When I say taking apart my ten-speed, I mean taking it apart down to the last nut and bolt.

Less than a week after receiving my expensive ten-speed, I spread out two white sheets in our garage and laid out each piece in order as I disassembled my bike. After it was in pieces, I put it all together again. This was my idea of a fun afternoon.

It freaked my dad out. Maybe it would've been better if he hadn't home early, opened the garage door expecting to put his car in the garage found me and my bike pieces in both parking spaces. I can't imagine his horror at seeing his eighty-dollar investment in pieces on his garage flood with his daughter looking at him with a guilty, sheepish look on her face.

My dad was a pretty good actor, though. He got out of his car, walked nonchalantly into the garage, and said, "You better have that put together again before your mom gets home," he stopped at the kitchen door, turned around and continued, "She'll freak, and we'll never hear the end of it."

All I could do was reply, "OK. What time is it?"

Since I got no response to my question, I continued merrily disassembling my bike. I placed the last, teeny-tiny, ridged washer on the sheet; stood back and surveyed my accomplishment. I was so proud.

It was at that moment that my dad poked his head into the garage, "You haven't started putting it back together?! Do you know what you're doing?"

"Of course," I lied, "Can't you see? I've got it."

"Well, get going. Your mom will be home in about half an hour."

Being a typical teenager, I balked. I surveyed my accomplishment from multiple angles. I tip-toed around the cables, chain, metal clips, nuts, bolts and washers. I examined the frame and was amazed at how light it was. Holding the handle bars, I pretended I was racing. Pretty soon my pretending ended, and I stood and looked at my bike in pieces; lots and lots of pieces. My pride dissipated and turned into doubt.

"Oh my God," I thought, "What have I done?"

I stood motionless for a moment and stopped myself from crying. I stopped myself from going to get Dad.

"It's OK," I thought, "I did it this way so all I have to do is backtrack. That's all I have to do."

I took a deep breath and picked up the teeny-tiny, ridged washer. I realized that backtracking wasn't going to be as easy as I had planned. I got to work and consciously calmed myself numerous times. As I got each piece put in place and parts started too look more like my bike, I gained confidence.

All was going well until the garage door went up again. There was Mom sitting in her car rolling forward to park on her side of the garage. There I was on her side of the garage still putting together my bike.

"What!" she exclaimed as she tumbled out of her car, "What have you done?! Does your father know about this?! What have you done?!"

She stormed past me before I could say anything. She opened the kitchen door yelling for my dad and slammed it behind her. I could hear her inside yelling for my dad to come out to the garage and take care of things.

"We paid eighty dollars for a bunch of pieces strewn out on the garage floor?!" I heard her yell through the double-thick metal door, "She better know what she's doing!" she continued, "Don't tell me it's going to be OK."

Silence. I put my head down and got to work still being careful to get every piece back in place. I wasn't going to have one of those bikes where all the pieces were back in place except for one nut or one washer or a clamp or.... That would drive me nuts. All pieces came off. All pieces were going back together.

The kitchen door opened. My dad was standing there. He was just standing there with such a look of exasperation.

"I told you she'd freak," he said, "Didn't I tell you that she'd be mad? Well?"

"Yes."

"So do you need help?"

"No."

"OK. Look. I know you can do this. You took it apart. You can put it back together. Your mom knows you can do this, too. She just needs to see it. OK?"

"Yep."

He closed the door, and I kept going. They knew I could do this. I knew I could do this. I did it!

Within the first week of having my most prized possession, I torn it apart and put it back together. Every single piece went back on the bike. I was proud.

I went in to get my parents to show them that all was OK. They came out to the garage and inspected the bike like it was a new baby or something. They checked everything.

"OK," Mom said, "Now you'll never do this again, right?"

"But I put it all together again," I balked and continued, "Besides, if it needs repairs, I can do them. That's cheaper," I offered.

"Well, you don't need to be taking the whole thing apart and putting it back together again for a long, long, l o n g time, right?" Mom responded.

"Nope."

"OK. Mission Accomplished," said Dad, "Good job, by the way."

"Yes," Mom said, "Good job. Sorry I got so upset. I was just ... surprised."

This is when I learned the difference between good surprises and bad surprises. My mom was a very good teacher on this subject.

So that was that. I had a new ten-speed, a new gang of friends, and a summer of pure bliss. Since I'd had successful, corrective surgery to cure my previous five years of being very ill; I was a new me, too. Little did I know the number of times that I would become "a new me." Little did I know that I was developing the skills and being taught so many important lessons that would take me through all the changes in my life. I was just a happy kid with a new bike, new friends, doing a ton of fun stuff because I had pretty good parents who loved me and took the time to teach me some of the most important lessons in life. Dang, I was lucky.

My parents spent eighty dollars on a new Columbia boy's ten-speed for me in 1971! The fact that it was a boy's bike made it cooler back then. I had the coolest and most perfect bike in the world. I had it for a decade. We had a lot of adventures together. :D

Bicycle! Bicycle! - Part 1

Yep! I finally did it! I got up. Got dressed in my bike gear (sans shower - a bit "ewwww", I know). Put my "street clothes" on over my bike gear. Added helmet, shades and gloves - et Voila! One bike ride accomplished. It was a small bike ride. Only about a half hour, but I broke the "get up, turn on computer, get coffee" routine - 1 Time. Here's to building a pattern on this one.

I need a new pump, since I discovered mine is broken. Any suggestions? I really should have one that I can take with me. To the best of my recollection, I've never had a flat while riding my bike anywhere. I'm thinking I might be due after forty-five years, so I want to be prepared.

Of course confessing that I've never had a flat while out on the road also implies that I don't know how to change a flat out on the road. Hmmmm. Not to worry. I have sitting next to me, "The Complete Bike Book" by Chris Sidwell with Foreword by (the infamous) Ned Overend. Ta Da! (I paid $3.99 + tax for it, too. Gotta love my Sale finds.)

"The Complete Bike Book" is pretty darn complete. The parts that I'm mainly interested in are "Maintaining your bike" and "Health and fitness." It's structured and concise. I need structure, so I'm thinking, "What if I just approach this as an experiment on following a program rather than focusing on 'losing weight and exercising'?" I mean, what if I kind of conduct an independent study program about becoming a cyclist - Again.

You see, the summer between 6th and 7th grade, after much whining, begging, nagging, and negotiating on my part; my mom and dad surprised me with my first ten-speed. It was a Columbia, sparkly, rust-colored ten-speed that I had until I moved to California when I was twenty.

I gave it to a dear friend before I left the Midwest. I hear he rode it all over the place. I heard he rode it "to death." He's dead now, too. I miss him more than the bike and am glad that he was happy with my gift to him. He sure did smile and thank me a lot.

The situation that prompted my parents to break out the big bucks, over eighty dollars, on a ten-speed was a practical one. I was involved with the local Children's Theatre program at our relatively new community college. This summer I had a bigger part and better cast mates. I found out that three of my fellow cast mates rode their bikes to rehearsals practically passing by my house. Since my parents knew and were friends with one boy's parents, and because they knew of the other parents and approved of them; I was granted permission to ride along with the group. This was my first experience of "complete" freedom. The good times started on the first day Karl, Shawn, and Jay showed up at my door on their ten-speeds.

I pulled out my Sting Ray, hopped on, and said, "OK. Let's go!"

"You're riding that?" Jay said.

"Yeah."

"You'll never keep up," said Karl.

"Sure I will."

"Doubt it," retorted Jay.

"Come on," said Shawn, "We'll be late," she looked at me and continued, "Don't worry about it."

We headed out, and I soon learned that peddling my Sting Ray to keep up with them on their ten-speeds was really hard. I was consistently at the back, peddling for all I was worth while they seemed to glide along effortlessly.

This is when the whining, begging, nagging and negotiating started. When I got home from my first day of riding to rehearsal and back, I started in. My parents turned a deaf ear informing me that a new bike was not in the budget; and that, since I had wanted to ride my bike, I was stuck with my decision and my Sting Ray. Goodness. This was not the response I was looking for. I had a big dilemma.

Karl, Shawn, and Jay were pretty cool kids. They seemed to like me just fine. Riding my bike made me feel all grown up. I wanted to be part of the gang.

Karl was funny and cute. He looked very much like Jimmy from "H.R. Pufnstuf" with his Prince Valiant hair-cut. He was very intelligent and had a habit of telling us the exact time whenever we asked, which we did a lot just to hear him say, "It's 10:37 and 25 seconds," or something similar. Karl was cast as the Prince in Rumpelstiltskin.

Shawn was absolutely beautiful and nice. She had long, wavy, sandy, blonde hair. She was intelligent and confident, too. She would often put the boys in their place and was happy to be my friend. Shawn was cast as the Princess in Rumpelstiltskin.

Jay was funny and nice. I'd known him for years through church, and because his dad was a ref; and my dad was a coach. Jay's whole family was nice. Comedic character parts were Jay's specialty. Jay was cast as the Head Guard in Rumpelstiltskin.

All three were way cooler and better looking than I was, or so I thought. I was an awkward, skinny kid with a pronounced under-bite who was stuck with a Sting Ray. I was cast as Rumpelstiltskin's mother; a witch.

Given that my parents were unsympathetic to my plight, I had a decision to make; continue riding my bike with the group to rehearsals or get a ride from one of my parents. I opted for riding my Sting Ray. I'm glad that I did because as the days went by, I started earning some respect. I didn't whine about having to ride my Sting Ray to my friends. I just peddled as hard as I could to keep up with them. We even had races on our way to the campus. I never won, but I started coming closer and closer to winning. My friends told me that I really needed a ten-speed. I told them that I was working on it. They offered to talk to my parents on my behalf. That made me very happy, but I declined their offer. Looking back, it would've been fun to see my parents' reaction to "My Negotiating Team" and their pitch.

We spent a lot of time together because when we weren't in rehearsal, we would camp out in a lounge in the theatre building, watch TV, eat God-awful food from the vending machines, drink too much pop, and play Yuker. Yuker was a revelation to me. I'd never played before, and learning this new game was fun. We played every day after rehearsal and after getting whatever "food" we wanted from the vending machines. This "food" included sandwiches that could be heated up and lots of candy and chips. On occasion we actually paid money for apples, oranges and bananas, too. Our Yuker games became all consuming. We held tournaments. We switched partners and held more tournaments. I fell in love with Yuker.

It was during our Yuker games that Karl, being the oldest and the recognized intellectual of the group, started coming up with negotiating strategies. Shawn and Jay chimed in. I listened and got ideas of how to continue my barrage of appeals. I added my insights into my parents' psychology. We developed numerous plans of attack that I reported on each day. Strategies were devised to circumvent all objections. Arguments perfected. Timing was discussed. I had a team helping me lobby for what I truly needed!

Life was pretty darn great! My new friends saw that I didn't whine; and that, I accepted my circumstances. They realized that I was a strong cyclist because I really did start keeping up with them, even while they were switching gears. It didn't hurt that I was a pretty good Yuker player and caught on quickly. Of course there was the that wonderful fact that we all got along famously. We really did. They were there for me and vice versa. I wasn't pitied. Getting me a ten-speed was an auxiliary project we undertook while enjoying our time together. Winning Yuker tournaments and surviving the very annoying guy who was playing Rumplestiltskin took up even more time than figuring out how to get me the bike I needed.

It's amazing what can be accomplished when the right team is put together. When they focus on accomplishing their goals and support each other wonderful things can happen. Of course, we didn't realize it at the time. We were just figuring out ways to get "our" way; ways to wear down my parents' resolve based on "factual information" as Karl would say. All of a sudden my dilemma became the group dilemma. After all, we could make it to rehearsals and do more things together if I had a ten-speed just like they did. Our focus was solution-oriented, not just for me, but for the group as a whole. All of these perspectives were duly offered to my parents. With each rejection, I came back with a revised suggestion. My

Our group became a gang. My gang helped me wear down my parents. We were a gang. We were a Theatre Gang. We were a Cycling Gang. We were a Gang of Kids when being a Gang wasn't a bad thing. Our Gang was very much like the "Our Gang" kids on TV. We were good-natured, amusing, hard-working, intelligent, nice, fun kids who were all about doing something about whatever obstacles faced us. To our credit, we were pretty successful at achieving our goals.

Regarding "The Ten-Speed Campaign", one day my dad came home and asked me to go unload the trunk of his car. I groused at being told to do yet another task for my father, but stomped off to get whatever it was that he wanted me to get. Opening the front door, I saw a ten-speed bike sticking out of the trunk. Of course, I ran over to the trunk and got MY NEW Ten-Speed Bike OUT!

"My Bike! My Bike! You got me My Bike!" I screamed and looked back at the house. Mom and Dad were standing in the doorway with huge smiles on their faces. It was a very good moment in our family history; one of the best.

There is more to tell, but in the interest of length; I will stop here, for now. So now you know that my theatre involvement was one of the reasons I got my ten-speed. Kind of a strange fact.

I also learned the value of teamwork, collaboration, working hard without whining, and the joy of finding people I got along with who liked me. There were so many good things surrounding this ten-speed. No wonder I will never forget it. That's how it is sometimes. Looking back at the events surrounding one material object are just as or more meaningful than the object itself. Thing is, I know why Thor kissed his bike. I bet a lot of us know why he kissed his bike.

In any case, I have more than half of the rest of the story written, so I'll either post it tonight or tomorrow. I think I'm all caught up on my "numbers" for posting every day.

I'm learning that going back to the things that made me happiest when I was a kid seems to be something that is very beneficial for me, right now. I'm looking forward to my cycling plan. I'll keep you posted and finish this bike story up with the next post.

Take care! :D