听
听It鈥檚 irrefutable fact that every kid who has ever owned a bicycle has had it stolen or lost.听
Except me. That鈥檚 because I had the world鈥檚 worst bicycle and held that title for three years. I had the bicycle world鈥檚 biggest misfit, the elephant man version of a then well-known Canadian manufacturer of bicycles and hockey equipment. If you know anything about Canada, you know of what company I speak.听
As I struggled with my two-wheeled sample of frustration, I often wondered what was going on in the mind of the hung over social misfit who had actually assembled this piece of non-compliant transportation.听
Word got around quickly in our little town that Parksie had a crappy bicycle.听
It was nearly impossible to push the pedals on that aberration. At first, I didn鈥檛 know any different. My cousin Allan taught me how to ride it on Boxing Day, the day after I received it as a gift from Santa who obviously was getting even with me for one or several earlier misdeeds. I was eight-years-old, or maybe nine and a slow starter. I was also too short, so cousin Allan built blocks on the pedals so I could pump away. And pump I did. No matter how hard and furiously I pedaled, that bike would not soar. It would barely move. But, as I said, I knew no different. It was the one and only bike I had ever ridden. I would never get on my sister鈥檚 bike because 鈥� well, it was a girl鈥檚 bike. Guys didn鈥檛 ride girl鈥檚 bikes like they do now on hybrid non-gender models.听
I began to avoid riding my bicycle. It was too much work. Besides I lived a block from the rink, a block from the ball diamonds and two blocks from school and our store. I could run to those destinations faster than I could bike.听
When my friend Vern had his bicycle stolen as a rite of passage in our town, he foolishly asked to borrow my red beast so he could do his paper delivery route. I readily agreed. He brought it back and dumped it before he was finished. 鈥淵our bike is a piece of 鈥�.鈥� he proclaimed. I agreed wholeheartedly and expressed wonderment that he had even asked for it, knowing its reputation. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 think it could be THAT bad,鈥� he said. 鈥淏ut it is.鈥� He walked his paper route and my bike with no name, remained crumpled on the front lawn.听
I clothes-pinned two Eddie Yost baseball cards next to the spokes, like you鈥檙e supposed to do to make the churning wheels spit out a sound that resembled an electric motor of sorts. My slo-mo charger sounded more like a dishcloth in distress. I removed the Yost card and felt like crying.听
I oiled the chain, loosened the chain, tightened the chain, swore at the chain, prayed to Jesus and Santa that I would be a better humanoid if they would just let me soar down a street once without suffering muscle cramps.听
I finally admitted defeat and put a for-sale ad in the newspaper. Of course prospective buyers, once they discovered the ownership, avoided it like it was tucked away in an Ebola tent. I offered to throw in a couple of Eddie Yost baseball cards as an incentive. No dice. They wouldn鈥檛 touch it even if I had thrown in a Mickey Mantle rookie card.听
The red menace spent its last days in a garage corner, unlamented.听
But before I bid it goodbye, I did soar down the street 鈥� on Vern鈥檚 new bicycle and experienced the thrill of what it felt like to pedal the real deal.听
