It made me happy to have my own "wheels." I cleaned and painted the secondhand bike red and even added a silver thunderbolt to the fender to make it look fast and ready to roll.
Once it was "restored" and no longer looked like a dust catcher from someone’s basement, I took it for a test drive.
The first step was to find a place to mount the boy’s bike since I wasn’t tall enough to reach over the frame without starting from a stoop. Then I had to manage to stay upright and balanced.
After many falls and scraped knees, I wobbly made my way over the streets and sidewalks of our immigrant Chicago neighborhood in the ‘50s.
I was curious about what was outside the safety of the few blocks I already knew. I decided to risk a ride beyond the boundaries of my Greek, Irish, Polish and Swedish neighborhood. There was a bigger world out there; and my bike, like a trusty steed, would take me there.
So I headed for the nearest stoop, straddled my bike, and set off for my first trip across neighborhood borders into foreign territory with other nationalities on Chicago's South Side.
I was breaking the rules by leaving my neighborhood, but I couldn’t resist the adventure.
Even so, the lifestyles seemed familiar to my neighborhood with open market tables covered with fresh breads, fish, and produce, many displayed just outside of family-owned shops housed under their apartments.
Some of the food and the odors were unfamiliar.Other sidewalk tables held clothing and trinkets for sale.
I didn’t feel comfortable getting off my bike just yet. After all, these were strangers I was told not to go near.
When I returned home, I didn't dare tell anyone of my explorations just a few blocks away. I kept my travels a secret so I could return to discover more about the new territory.
Thanks to my secondhand bike, I got to discover a new world and its inhabitants in Chicago's immigrant melting pot of the '50s.
Copyright © Erana Leiken, 2009-2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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Erana, this is the second blog about bikes that I have read today. My first bike was a battered three-wheeler back in WWII. My first two- wheeler was a hand-me-down from my cousin. Learning to ride on this was quite spectacular as it had a fixed wheel. My last was a ladies 'sit-up-and-beg' with a basket on the front. This was given to me by the village coalman after he had run over my 'best' second-hand bike with his lorry.
ReplyDeleteI can't match exploring Chicago but I feel an article coming on.