How important was your bike when you were growing up? To most kids growing up in the 1970s and 80s, the bike was like an extra limb.

I live in a little, tiny town where time has seemed to halt somewhat. The streets are set up in a pretty clever way, and kids are still pretty safe riding their bikes around the streets – although you don’t see a bunch of them and they are almost always in pairs. Still, it feels kind of good to see that kids can still ride their bikes around town.

But gone are the days when we rode way out to everywhere and sometimes our parents just trusted we’d get back before dark.  That’s a foreign and preposterous idea to most in this day and age.

The bike that both my brother and I learned to ride on was a little green number with a yellow seat. I finally learned to ride coasting down the driveway at my grandma’s house. My brother, who may or not be favored, actually has home movie evidence learning to ride. He was more determined and motivated by money: our neighbor had promised a handful of shiny quarters if he learned to ride by 3 o’clock that day.  

So, no wonder it was documented on film. He indeed reached his goal.

Earlier that year at Christmas, I had received a new bike. It was a yellow John Deere bike with a long black seat and way more grown-up than the bike I’d handed down to my brother.  The bike survived years of wear and tear, including leaning the rubber handle bar against the grill.

Sometimes, that bike was a Camaro or a 1976 Gran Torino like Starsky and Hutch drove. It was a semi when the CB radio craze was going strong, and we rode around the neighborhood with walkie talkies and all sorts of CB jargon.

That bike knew every nook and cranny of Epworth Street, every ramped-up area of the street’s sidewalks, and where the sidewalk ended as well. I could almost steer the bike with my eyes closed, and I knew when to veer off onto the street and back up on the continued sidewalk on the next block. There were a couple of little dips and even a few ramp-type spots along the way.  

I spent a lot of mindless hours pretending to be a cop or someone being chased by bad guys. The spin-outs I could do in the rocks were spectacular.

When I was older and making money, I could steer with my knees while I opened a Hostess cupcake package or any number of treats from D&J Grocery down the street. I could carry sodas and candy from the laundromat around the corner with ease, too.

Speaking of making money, there was a period of time that I could ride a bike and pull a lawnmower behind it – although I only did that when the mowing job was around a couple of corners. Sometimes, my parents would drop the mower at the yard I was to mow, with the gas can, and I’d cycle over to do the job. By then, my bicycle was starting to be more of a necessity than an escape from reality, and riding it induced dreams of a driver’s license more and more.  

There was a certain degree of “cruising” on the bikes from around ages 12-14, and I can remember a couple of buddies joining me when we found out where one of our recent crushes may have been babysitting or hanging out somewhere around town.  

I don’t think we had the guts to stop and chat, but I’m pretty sure we rode around the block several times and made noise. On some occasions, we may have gotten up the courage to wave or holler something intelligent.  

I remember one summer seeing one of those gals at the county fair and hearing her say “I saw you ride by” to me. There may have been a lot of hidden meaning in that phrase, but it probably just meant she saw me ride my bike past her house.  

Still, it was a big deal.

For a while in my 20s, I rode great distances with gloves and helmet and the whole nine yards with an equally serious friend. By then, I’d gotten a pretty nice road bike that I really couldn’t afford.  We got up early and cycled several miles, returning to our starting point relieved and feeling like athletes. It seemed a manly sport to me, as I’d be covered with flecks of road dirt and tar after zipping along the bike route. 

I don’t know when the final trip down the open road was, but I remember selling my pricey bike in the early days of Facebook Marketplace just to have more garage space when my kids started driving.  The amount I sold it for was alarmingly cheap.  

Bicycling these days is much the same as roller skating, although I have much greater luck cycling.  I take just a second to get my bearings, but it doesn’t take long. Roller skating prowess seems to have totally gone by the wayside, and I am no longer an able-bodied skater… nor do I seem to care.  

It’s not one of my recurring dreams, but every now and then I have a little glimpse of riding my bike along the sidewalks of Epworth. It’s just for a brief moment and not at all like my epic “piano playing” or “driving around” recurring dreams, but the dips and ramps on the sidewalks are still there in the dream, and I usually wake up feeling like I’ve visited an old friend.

If that bike had an imagination like I had when riding it, oh what stories it would tell – none that would entertain anyone, of course.  

But I’d sure like to hear them again.