Bicycle always remained my favorite mode of transportation. It also scared me too long till I reached my 12th year of life. When I was a kid my dad used to make me sit on the front bar as he peddled his way to places like park, temple or movies. Its too exciting experiences came along with excruciating pain. Sitting on the front cross bar as my own weight pushed my bottom creek towards the metallic tube and it in turn trying to rip me apart is a “I love you but I hate you” kind of feeling.
Some times I could not contain the pain and used to wail like a locomotive engine’s steam horn and dad used to get embarrassed on road because of my wailing. He used to plant two or three high impact blows on my back to make my mouth shut and actually succeeded in making me shut my mouth. Thank my dad… over a period of time he tried understanding my pain and tried finding a solution. He wrapped a thick roll of cloth and made me sit on that cushioned comfort.
I was so happy because the percentage area occupancy of my ass increased considerably and it felt good. But my incessant response to obstacles on road that were not damped by any shock absorbing system, I used to move like a centipede trying to regain balance. These unpredictable movements used to make that cloth roll unwind and my peril used to reach back to square one. More than that my sudden jerky movements used to imbalance dad’s spontaneity in navigating this invention by esteemed Kirkpatric Macmillan in a hilariously disoriented way. I again used to get rewarded by high impact blows for endangering not only my dad’s life but also his prized possession along with my own self not to forget his heroic image exhibited on road.
And to my utter disbelief one day he arrived from his school (My dad was a teacher) peddling his bicycle with a brand new tiny seat fitted on the cross bar. I was agape with unspeakable euphoria. Now I started pestering dad to take me for a ride which he promptly refused on the grounds of tiredness. Some how the faith related lessons of persistence somehow never used to work when my dad decided not to give me a ride on his bicycle.
And there it’s standing so proudly on its stand and… I tried to climb on the seat with the dexterity my little limbs allowed. But bang… I fallen and the bicycle landed above me throwing its heavy gauged tubular structure. And it became another contributory fact for another session of wailing aided by dad’s reward of impatience.
The bicycle used to terrify me with its liquid movements as I tried teaming it. My tiny hands tried high speed jugglery between the handles and seat and frame. Some times I used to succeed and the eventuality of success always is bruised knees and elbows. I used to think that its better I go to frontiers and fight for my country than being mutilated by this bicycle.
Then in my growing years I discovered an easier looking way to master this art. There used to be some shops that rented small diameter wheeled bicycles that looked user friendly. They are the devils in miniature form. They behave and feel nice till you mount them and when you ride they show true colors of baffling you and making you tilt over
Inability to ride a bicycle actually germinated an iota of inferiority complex within me. I could not even demand my dad to buy me a bicycle only because I could not ride it. This lasted for a few years and one day due to some reason our school closed early. On my walk back home one of my friend insisted that he would teach me. And… voila... I could ride a bicycle. I rode and rode till I saw a ditch approaching. I was either too scared or too defiant in turning the handle and… the resultant was a little less intense than a ground based explosion.
Well… I again needed to coat my bruised knees and elbows with my ever ready and ever reliable medicine… Turmeric powder. I picked the skills of fine act of balance in the succeeding days.
The day I became confident I was too happy. I took up the next ascension in further polishing my skills. I used to make friends sit on my bicycle and ride faster. And I used to try every known trick to make me look like a hero.
Now today when I not only look back but look forward too… I love bicycle. It’s the best means of transportation. Not polluting atmosphere, not consuming natural resources, not noisy, not cumbersome and burns calories and keep heart young and healthy and affordable.
The only thing that breaks my heart is the social status attached to the person who rides a bicycle. It’s disgusting to look at people who disparage bicycle riders and make way for motorized transportation.
I wish to own a 10 gear bicycle. Its not happening despite my efforts. I hope i gather my will to save money and buy my own dream machine some day. A ten geared shock absorber assisted slim bodied bicycle
Some times I could not contain the pain and used to wail like a locomotive engine’s steam horn and dad used to get embarrassed on road because of my wailing. He used to plant two or three high impact blows on my back to make my mouth shut and actually succeeded in making me shut my mouth. Thank my dad… over a period of time he tried understanding my pain and tried finding a solution. He wrapped a thick roll of cloth and made me sit on that cushioned comfort.
I was so happy because the percentage area occupancy of my ass increased considerably and it felt good. But my incessant response to obstacles on road that were not damped by any shock absorbing system, I used to move like a centipede trying to regain balance. These unpredictable movements used to make that cloth roll unwind and my peril used to reach back to square one. More than that my sudden jerky movements used to imbalance dad’s spontaneity in navigating this invention by esteemed Kirkpatric Macmillan in a hilariously disoriented way. I again used to get rewarded by high impact blows for endangering not only my dad’s life but also his prized possession along with my own self not to forget his heroic image exhibited on road.
And to my utter disbelief one day he arrived from his school (My dad was a teacher) peddling his bicycle with a brand new tiny seat fitted on the cross bar. I was agape with unspeakable euphoria. Now I started pestering dad to take me for a ride which he promptly refused on the grounds of tiredness. Some how the faith related lessons of persistence somehow never used to work when my dad decided not to give me a ride on his bicycle.
And there it’s standing so proudly on its stand and… I tried to climb on the seat with the dexterity my little limbs allowed. But bang… I fallen and the bicycle landed above me throwing its heavy gauged tubular structure. And it became another contributory fact for another session of wailing aided by dad’s reward of impatience.
The bicycle used to terrify me with its liquid movements as I tried teaming it. My tiny hands tried high speed jugglery between the handles and seat and frame. Some times I used to succeed and the eventuality of success always is bruised knees and elbows. I used to think that its better I go to frontiers and fight for my country than being mutilated by this bicycle.
Then in my growing years I discovered an easier looking way to master this art. There used to be some shops that rented small diameter wheeled bicycles that looked user friendly. They are the devils in miniature form. They behave and feel nice till you mount them and when you ride they show true colors of baffling you and making you tilt over
Inability to ride a bicycle actually germinated an iota of inferiority complex within me. I could not even demand my dad to buy me a bicycle only because I could not ride it. This lasted for a few years and one day due to some reason our school closed early. On my walk back home one of my friend insisted that he would teach me. And… voila... I could ride a bicycle. I rode and rode till I saw a ditch approaching. I was either too scared or too defiant in turning the handle and… the resultant was a little less intense than a ground based explosion.
Well… I again needed to coat my bruised knees and elbows with my ever ready and ever reliable medicine… Turmeric powder. I picked the skills of fine act of balance in the succeeding days.
The day I became confident I was too happy. I took up the next ascension in further polishing my skills. I used to make friends sit on my bicycle and ride faster. And I used to try every known trick to make me look like a hero.
Now today when I not only look back but look forward too… I love bicycle. It’s the best means of transportation. Not polluting atmosphere, not consuming natural resources, not noisy, not cumbersome and burns calories and keep heart young and healthy and affordable.
The only thing that breaks my heart is the social status attached to the person who rides a bicycle. It’s disgusting to look at people who disparage bicycle riders and make way for motorized transportation.
I wish to own a 10 gear bicycle. Its not happening despite my efforts. I hope i gather my will to save money and buy my own dream machine some day. A ten geared shock absorber assisted slim bodied bicycle
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