The Bicycle
Probably the most important possession of a small boy in a small town in the late 1940’s was his bicycle. I don’t really remember how old I was when I got mine. I was probably 10 or 11. The bike was well used and kind of tattered. It had to have been manufactured in the 1930’s. It had a set of handlebars shaped like a bull’s horns, big fenders, big round tires and a coaster brake. It had been painted many times and was a dull, scratched up red when I got it. It was beautiful.
That bike got washed, sanded, painted and wiped off many, many times. The air in the tires got checked almost daily. The wheels were removed and greased, and the chain oiled often. It got tender, loving care.
Beaver City, the town I lived in, had a population of about 1,000 in the late 1940’s. The boy and the bike had free rein to go wherever he wished. One lesson early on was to not do dumb things like go in front of cars when your parents could see you. Such an act cost me three days without the bike the second day that I had it.
The bike took the boy to the ball diamond, the creek, the landfill, the drugstore, the school; everywhere!
He even unwilling let his big sister use in on rare occasions. It was carefully inspected when she returned it.
During the last year before he moved from Beaver City, the bike was used to deliver a paper route. One of the first things bought with the paper route earnings was a big basket to put in front of the handlebars to hold the papers.
When his family moved to the big city, the bike stayed behind. That was harder on the boy’s feelings than losing all of his small town friends.