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PointSouth/MetroLife: Bicycles used to open a world of possibilities
Wednesday, December 05, 2001 By Jerry Cornell
It appears to me, walking along segments of the Montour Trail in Bethel Park and Peters, that many bicycle riders I see there aren't having fun.
Pumping along on their sleek, multigeared bikes, attired in spandex outfits and aerodynamic crash helmets, they seem grimly focused on some achievement far down the path. There is almost a Lance Armstrong/Tour de France air about them.
If some day one shows up wearing a yellow T-shirt, I'll know my assessment was close to correct.
What caused me really to notice these intense riders happened the other day. Walking on the crushed limestone path in Bethel, I heard the soft crunch of rubber on stone created by bike tires on the path.
Behind me, pedaling slowly along on a balloon-tired bike, was an older gentleman (along about my age), smiling and taking in all the trail had to offer -- scenery, walkers, joggers, squirrels and birds.
His riding didn't seem to be a job, just enjoyment.
It made me think back to when I was 10 years old and earned enough money -- $35 -- delivering papers at a penny a copy to buy a full-sized bicycle.
It was an off-brand bike -- Rocket. It was blue and had a coaster brake and a basket for holding my newspapers.
It transported me from ordinary events to possibilities limited only by my imagination.
The Rocket was solid steel. It took two of us kids to turn it over to work on its wheels and tires. Until I was a high school senior, I rode the Rocket through rain, snow and on ice.
Over the years its fenders got dented and broken spokes were wrapped around neighboring healthy spokes.
It took several bashings when my father pulled his car into the garage just a little too far. But some yanking on a wheel and readjustment of the handlebars would set things right again.
We didn't have dedicated bike or walking trails. However, we had a number of open fields and lots.
These soon had clay trails crossing them because practically nothing would stop a balloon-tired bicycle.
Our bikes became motorcycles and fighter planes. Flight was possible on one path which dropped off from the sidewalk. If a kid could get up enough speed on the short lead to that path, he could fly several feet off the ground for about 8 feet. The problem, of course, was the law of gravity coupled with a hard landing.
We determined that the accomplishment wasn't how far you flew or how high. It was staying upright on the bike after it landed. You also learned not to be seated on the bike when it hit.
With my older brother, I was allowed to ride the Rocket out of our neighborhood and into other communities several miles away.
The whole world opened to me when I was on wheels. Automobile traffic, though, was a bit of a concern. I discovered later operating an automobile, car drivers were probably more wary of us on bikes than we were of cars.
When my own kids grew to the size they could enjoy bikes, the idea of a balloon-tired bike was as repulsive to them as being seen at the mall with their parents. They chose lightweight, multigeared, banana-seated bikes with no fenders and cigar-thin tires. These definitely were not designed to carry a load of 50 newspapers on the handlebars.
Also, I couldn't pronounce the bike makers' names. Whatever happened to the Elgins or Schwinns?
No matter. Seeing that one rider on the path enjoying himself on a bike that looked amazingly like the old blue Rocket brought back great memories -- using two wheels to help youthful imagination and exploration soar.
Jerry Cornell is a free-lance writer.
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