It looked very familiar, that little green bike, but on the other hand of course it looked like brand new. The apple green paint job was fresh and the tires, at least the front one, was black and shiny. Still, with that distinctive little luggage rack on the rear, and the unusual single handbrake for the front wheel, well, it was like I had seen that bike somewhere before.
It was Christmas Day 1965, and that green bike standing by the hearth was for me! My excitement was without bounds. I mean how lucky can you get? I’d never had a bike -I mean a two wheeler- of my own. Heck, it was only recently that I had even taken the most tentative steps in learning to ride one. My dad had been pushing me around on my brother’s Huffy, but that bicycle was way too big for me. Having my own bike -my size- was a breakthrough, for sure.
Some of the neighborhood kids learned to ride bikes with training wheels but that was apparently not an option for my family. My dad’s philosophy about it was for us to just get on the dang bike and ride; the training wheels would only hold us back. Very early in the learning phase I was launched down our driveway toward the garage on my brother’s Huffy. “Wheeee! I’m riding a bike,” I yelped for joy. My enthusiasm waned markedly as I rode into the garage through the open overhead door and then crashed into the far wall. From that point I learned to use the brake.
Anyway, taking possession of the little green Christmas bike I honed my skills fast; I mean I was riding like a pro soon and having a ball! For a time that bike and I were inseparable. And we had some amazing family bike rides. Not my little sister, though; she was too little yet. My dad would take my brother and big sister and me with our bikes south on the Parkway to the top of Bent Mountain and then let us coast down the mountain as he slowly followed in the Volkswagen bus. Now that was fun.
With all the riding I did on that bike I got to know every nuance of it, and I gradually came to the conclusion that my ride was a recycled one. From the Christmas Day Santa had given that two wheeler to me I resisted giving in to the idea -it was a bit disconcerting- but nevertheless deep down inside I knew that it used to be my big sister’s bike (!). Flecks of the new green paint had chipped off, revealing the distinctive gold underneath, and the fittings for the little basket she had were still on the handlebars. Not to mention that it was, well, a girl’s bike, as some of the older kids were quick to point out.
Oh well, I thought. I didn’t really care, and I didn’t discuss the fact that I knew it had been my big sister’s bike with anyone. I loved that bike, and I practically wore it out. No, actually, I did wear it out.
One fine spring day I was riding my bike home from Crystal Spring School – yes little kids used to do that all the time – third grade as I recall, and something weird happened. I was riding down the Avenham sidewalk when I heard a notable creaking noise from the heart of my bike and at the same time I had a sinking sensation in both spirit and body. Pulling to a stop to investigate I was amazed to find the frame was breaking apart where the two parallel down tubes ascend from the crankset.
My bike was falling apart! One of the tubes was completely separated and the remaining one was severely distressed. I mounted the bike again, figuring I could probably make it the 3/4-mile home, and gingerly pedaled off. By the time I reached the intersection with Somerset, however, the frame was held together by just a few slivers of English steel and, astonished, I ended up completing the trip home carrying half a bike in each hand.
Those bike pieces were relegated to the garage, where they disappeared in the debris, and I moved on to other, bigger bikes, notably ones made for boys. From the time my little old green bike vanished into the detritus of the garage I never saw it again.
Until, that is, it showed up a year or so later on Christmas morning with its frame welded back together and a new bright blue paint job. Yep, it was recycled once again. That bike had a new lease on life, this time for my little sister.
But I kept that a secret, that is, until now.
— Johnny Robinson
