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.
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.
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.
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