The Perfect Bike
I walked past it every day, where it sat in a shop window. I wanted it so badly; the perfect color, shape, and size.
“Not yet,” I was told. “You need to be a bit older,” they all would say. When and why, and why not today?
The pink and green plastic beads on the spokes called to me. Around and around they would go with each spin of the wheels, I imagined.
My dreams finally came true when my parents bought me a bike with a front basket and a horn. Each time I passed a house, I’d honk it to get a laugh. I carried my books in the basket, and I rode my bike everywhere I went. From home to school, school to home, and points in between, I rode it everywhere.
Eventually, the day arrived when I’d grown too big for my bike, and I had to give it up. I cried and cried and felt like I’d lost a friend.
Now that I’m older, I have a blue bike that’s just the right shape, color, and size, which makes me even more passionate about it.
I’m also mother to a little girl whose bike is pink, with tiny plastic beads on her spokes just like when I was her age. We ride all the time—down the road, up a hill, and just about any other place we can take our bikes. She loves to hear the noise they make each time they roll.
Cycling was in my blood as a young girl and remains as an adult. Now, my daughter has a passion for cycling, too. I hope it never ends.
