Before I joined a fraternity, before I graduated from high school, participated in a journalism program at Northwestern University, applied to Mizzou, turned 18, 17 or 16, before I made my own raps or learned that life is rather complicated, I had a bike. We all may have owned a bike at some point, but it really hasn’t been a big deal until I reflected upon it. Having a bike meant things were easy.
From age nine to the moment I got my driver’s license, being a kid seemed much easier. Yes, people say that with owning a car comes responsibility, but it also signifies a moment of growth, of independence. It’s a moment every child desires because they think they’ll never get there. Yet, having a bike was much cooler in retrospect.
I’ve found myself driving around and seeing myself in those kids biking around Brentwood. I remember a time when having a bike meant everything. It was a gateway to for a fantastic meal, to for refreshments or to the to cool off. It was my backup plan for baseball practice. Most importantly, it was my own sense of independence.
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The “secret sidewalk,” a pathway between the York Village neighborhood and Parkridge, made having a bike that much better. Between the houses of my friends Matt Potter and Andrew Genetti and my house, on opposite ends of the two neighborhoods, was a 30-second connector that seemed amazing because it was a time-saver. The importance of such a perk is menial now; the allure of its previous excitement is astonishing.
Having a bike truly indicates simplicity for a child. All that mattered was the phrase, “Where next?” Whether it was a restaurant, a place to play baseball or a close friend’s house, the ease of riding around in the summer heat seemed so tedious when the thought of having my own car slowly crept around the corner. Little did I know that I should have held on to those moments.
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I’m tempted to bring my bike out again now. Both tires are probably flat, and last time I remember, the chain had some problems, too. But after a little work, it’s almost like I could revisit my childhood days. I doubt my friends would be willing to do the same, but maybe they don’t get it like me. Life was easier when the social responsibilities, pressure to succeed in school and thoughts of the future weren’t creeping up my back. Life was easier with a Schwinn.