Dad was promoted to be a sales manager in Cleveland Ohio and we moved to Chagrin Falls. We lived on Jackson Hill Road. The “hill” in the name was not a romanticization, and our driveway was right at the top. A half mile further up the road I found a newer neighborhood with a group of boys who were about my age. We all had bikes, but I was the only weirdo with a 10 speed. Among my friends, the primary purpose of a bike was to have skidding contests. While the thinner wheels of my ride ought to have been an advantage, the squishy rim brakes could never compete with the kind of lock up they got out of their single speeds. I did my best, but even when we found large sand patches, I came up short. My parents were kind enough to not ask questions about the large bald spot on my rear tire.
My friends and I usually traveled around the neighborhood on foot, but there was some wheeled exploration as well. Turtle hunting, for instance, required getting to the swamp in the nature preserve at the bottom of the hill. The preserve was served by a gravel parking lot. Here our competition was to see who could take the turn fastest. I watched my friends peel into the parking lot in a spray of dust, and would not be left out. My thinner tires and higher center of gravity almost ensured that I would wreck. Everyone got a good laugh about that. I got so good at this particular wipe out that I did it two days in a row. The second time hurt a lot more than the first, and drew considerably more blood across my forearm, but there was enough dust for it to clot quickly. The scrape didn’t bother me much after the initial sting. Some great excitement involving salamanders and a friend’s new fish tank conspired to keep me out of the house for a couple of days. By the time I finally walked back in, my wound was black, crunchy, and festering. My parents decided the best treatment was to soak it in warm salt water to loosen up the scabs and draw out the infection. It was my first lesson in the treatment of road rash and among the most painful. Dad read to me as I cried through the pain. It was also my first permanent road rash tattoo. We never came close to catching a turtle.
My family had left the tight lanes of New England behind. The few country roads we found were in isolated patches of a more suburban landscape. More often, we were on wide slabs complete with central turning lanes, big intersections and strip malls. At least the shoulders were usually healthy. Through the family riding I learned how to handle 5 lane stop lights, use turning lanes, watch out for parking lot exits, and double check the intentions of cars at stop signs.
Both my parents worked. So I gained flexibility and simplified their lives any time I could find a way to manage my own transportation. During the summer they encouraged me to ride to swim lessons or baseball practice in town. I hated baseball and it was clear that the sport hated me. Left field, far in the outfield, was the only safe place to hide from any expectations that I could catch or throw a ball. I have one vague memory of being on base. To this day, I hate the sport, but I didn’t mind the rides to practice.
An even better ride was to my Dad’s office. His sales training company used that new fangled video tape technology several years before it became a consumer product, and someone managed to get a bootleg copy of Star Wars. The office was in a suburban office park roughly 12 miles from our house. I made it a regular routine after school to jump on my bike and take over their conference room.
I am willing to guess that my parents had some debates about the appropriateness of their child being out and about on a bike, but there were never any doubts in my mind. Sometimes it rained. I lost my chain. Brakes rubbed. I might have fallen a few times. I learned not to trust drivers, how to navigate complicated intersections and to deal with my own missed turns. These seem like such simple things when I look back, even then I took them for granted. Thanks to my bike, I began to assume Yes. Yes, I can go. Yes, I will get there. Yes I will deal with the problems. Yes, I took these things for granted, and yes I began to assume that I had a right to move freely through the world. I don’t regret this arrogance.
buy me a coffee
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