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Opinion Columns Gopher Gulch: Let’s go ride a bike, thanks to Mr. Kite
Gopher Gulch: Let’s go ride a bike, thanks to Mr. Kite
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During my son’s fourth summer we had a battle of epic proportions. It all started very simply. He wanted to help Mommy in the garden, and so I got hi m a sturdy little trowel for digging. And dig he did. One morning he started digging a hole under the plum tree.
He’d never been so focused and determined, going at it as if digging that hole was the single most important thing in the world. The dog helped him for a while, but soon lost interest. Ralph, however, continued to dig, stopping only when I insisted he eat lunch, and later supper. It was at dusk, time to come in and bathe, that battle was joined. He refused to come inside unless he could bring his hole, which was now nearly two feet deep. I was the sort of mom who’d have let him bring it in if I could have figured out how, but moving a hole in the ground was beyond me. Moving a 3-year-old tornado wasn’t easy, but it was doable. His sturdy little body stiffened in grubby resistance and his shrieks could be heard for blocks. The only reason the neighbors didn’t report probable child abuse was the fact that those shrieks were obviously brought on not by pain but by rage.
Eventually, freshly bathed, he fell into an exhausted, hiccuping
sleep. I leaned in his bedroom doorway, wondering what had brought on
all this trauma. He looked positively angelic with his soft blond curls
and long dark lashes. How could a hole in the ground matter so much?
What dug up that memory was my purchase, last week, of a bicycle. I went to see Mr. Kite, who has spent decades providing bikes and the training to care for them to local youngsters who might not otherwise have a bike. He’s equally kind to elders. I wanted a bike like I’d had as a child, only with fenders, brakes and a chain guard. I have vivid memories of sitting in a ditch trying to get my pant leg out of my chain. I really wanted a bell, but thought perhaps it was too much to hope for. Mr. Kite understands the dreams of old women, and I now have a bike that fits me, complete with bell and basket. I have a bike rack on Lily the Kia, a chain lock and the prettiest helmet you ever saw. My plan is to ride a little farther each day, getting stronger, breathing better. Besides, the feeling of flying down a hill knocks about 50 years off my age. So I parked my beautiful new bike on the porch, came in and collapsed, exhausted. And suddenly I understood the little boy who shrieked because he couldn’t bring his hole in the house. Fortunately, unlike a hole in the ground, a bike is portable. While they’re not considered the height of fashionable decor, I think it looks lovely sitting in the middle of the front room. |
