Early Wheels

The only surviving photo of the tricycle of my childhood, possibly the only photo ever taken of it, was the one at right.  Truly, it's a photograph of our Boxer, Lady, getting into my mom's clothespin basket on our back porch.  The tricycle is just part of the background.  Still, I was thrilled to find the photo. 

I loved that trike.  It was big, probably about 20 inches wide, and it was sturdy with a platform on the back where a friend could stand and hold on while I pedaled us along.  Because it was so big I rode it till I graduated to a regular-sized bicycle.

There were only two drawbacks to my tricycle.  The first was that our driveway was gravel.  It was too hard to pedal and I eventually gave up trying.

The second problem was that the other easily accessible, flat, smooth place to ride was our back sidewalk.  It extended from the driveway, across our back yard to the neighbor's porch, so it was a nice long stretch.  It was great for one person to walk along but it was a problem for my trike.  What was the problem?  It was exactly -- exactly! -- the width of the back wheels on my trike.  If I steered very carefully I could stay on the sidewalk.  If not, one or the other of the back wheels went into the little groove beside the sidewalk.  I either had to push hard on the pedals to get it our of the rut or get off the trike, haul it back onto the sidewalk, and get on again.  I think that narrow sidewalk helped develop my steering abilities.

Fast forward to my first bicycle.  It was a hand-me-down:  it had been my sister's before it had been mine, and my aunt's before it had been hers.  Probably built in the late 1930s or early 1940s, it was a black, heavy, wide-wheeled, clunky bike with a wide seat and wide handlebars.  No photos of that bike exist, either, but the one below (except for its rust) looks very similar to it in style.

What I remember most about the bike is that I desperately wanted to ride it when I was too short to sit on the seat and pedal.  I suppose it was at least a 24" bike and, therefore, not one a 6-year-old could easily ride.  But I was determined.  I would walk it over to the porch steps, step onto the first or second step, get my feet on the pedals, and somehow practice balancing.  It didn't take me long to get the hang of balancing and pedaling, standing on the pedals because I was too short to sit.  I was off.  I can only guess the panic my mom might have felt.  Still, what a sense of accomplishment I felt.

One summer my brother, good brother that he was, took it apart, sanded it, and painted it fire engine red for me.  It wasn't quite like having a new bike but then, I didn't need a new bike as long as I had a usable bike to ride.

That bike had a twin boy's bike which my brother rode.  I wonder whatever happened to those bikes....  I wonder what memories my brother and sister have of riding them.

This is a post for Sepia Saturday 273.  Pedal over to find links to other bloggers' old photos and memories.

--Nancy.

Copyright © 2015 Nancy Messier. All Rights Reserved.