Me and my Schwinn

 Ask Clare for her least favorite memory of growing up, and it’ll probably be a tie between fielding practice and biking, both with me.  The practice I can understand: I hit ball after ball while barking, “Don’t field off your front foot!” or “Again!” again, again.  The bicycle part, though, is more of a mystery.

According to my daughter, it wasn’t the learning part; apparently, I was a pretty good teacher.  The problem occurred when we hit the bike trails.  Clare was a little young, no more than six or seven, and she could never keep up.  The worst part for her was at the end of one trail that twisted and rose as it hugged a ravine.  My partner didn’t know if she would fall into the ravine or die from exhaustion first.  My bad, and please don’t take it out on me when I’m old and need someone to make a pharmacy run.

In my defense, let me say I’ve always loved riding a bike.  I can probably remember every one I’ve had, and I’m still peddling away on the Schwinn Varsity I received as a present on my 18^th birthday in the year of our Lord, 1970.  Yesterday, I rode to the Blue Line, got off close to downtown, hit the lakefront trail and made my way up the North Shore to the Chicago Botanic Garden.  After a half-hour lunch, I was back on a trail that took me to the Northwest Side of Chicago, and from there south by city streets to beautiful Berwyn.  I started at 9:15 in the morning and got home at 3 in the afternoon.  As long as my knees hold out, I’ll be peddling.

Michele has asked me about getting a new bike; she may as well ask for a divorce.  I’d add a Schwinn Paramount if I could steal one off of somebody, but nothing else—and certainly nothing out of China—appeals to me.  I was born in Chicago to ride a bike made in Chicago.