Into the ride - Entry 5
D5.M5.Y19.
Miami
Writing Challenge - entry 5
Growing up in a small town of the old world, I could get around by public transit and that's what my parents preferred. I preferred freedom, so I chose to get around by bicycle. Getting around everywhere on two wheels was awesum good fun. Every now and then, my trusty BMX would have a malfunction. Chain would snap or seize. Brake cable would snap. Tire would run flat. It didn't take me long to realize that it would be easier and faster to repair my bicycle by myself rather than waiting for my dad to do it for me. He would still weld a broken seat post or fix another major catastrophe, but I was quite capable of doing all the minor repairs myself. It wasn't long after that that realized that I was enjoying myself wrenching on my broken bicycle and then wrenching on all other broken things.
Right around the ripe age of thirteen, a new reality dawned. The idea of getting around freely but without using manpower suddenly became very appealing. However, driving was out of the question for at least another five years. Some of the other kids on the bloc discovered that you only need to be sixteen to get a motorbike license and only fourteen to ride a scooter. Most of us belonged to families that couldn't afford much, let alone 50cc transportational toy for an aching teenager. However, as fourteenth birthdays started stacking up one after another for all my peers, a few new scooters popped up in the neighborhood. Since most of them belonged to the spoiled and the greedy who wouldn't let others take their new toys for a spin around the block, none of us felt bad about borrowing them without permission and returning them once the petrol tanks were empty.
When the motorbike age came around, I had a friend who had gotten one. We trained in the same club every day and I would get there on the back of his motorbike. I kept asking him to teach me how to work clutch and manual transmission, just as I kept asking my father to teach me the same about cars. It was my father that caved first and gave me a lesson or two. My friend eventually caved as well. We went to the fishing part of town to take advantage of absence of traffic and roads. I sat on the bike as he explained the controls while standing beside me. His explanation matched my driving lessons apart from positions of controls. When it was time to release the clutch, I let it go just a wee bit too quickly, the bike jumped into a wheelie and crashed into the side of a car that was parked nearby. We hightailed it and my friend never let me ride his cherished bike again. There were still plenty of other opportunities to borrow and returned depleted motorcycles around the neighborhood.
This is the story of how I started riding. To this day I still enjoy the liberty of getting around on two wheels and wrenching on broken things. Now, more than ever.
Right around the ripe age of thirteen, a new reality dawned. The idea of getting around freely but without using manpower suddenly became very appealing. However, driving was out of the question for at least another five years. Some of the other kids on the bloc discovered that you only need to be sixteen to get a motorbike license and only fourteen to ride a scooter. Most of us belonged to families that couldn't afford much, let alone 50cc transportational toy for an aching teenager. However, as fourteenth birthdays started stacking up one after another for all my peers, a few new scooters popped up in the neighborhood. Since most of them belonged to the spoiled and the greedy who wouldn't let others take their new toys for a spin around the block, none of us felt bad about borrowing them without permission and returning them once the petrol tanks were empty.
When the motorbike age came around, I had a friend who had gotten one. We trained in the same club every day and I would get there on the back of his motorbike. I kept asking him to teach me how to work clutch and manual transmission, just as I kept asking my father to teach me the same about cars. It was my father that caved first and gave me a lesson or two. My friend eventually caved as well. We went to the fishing part of town to take advantage of absence of traffic and roads. I sat on the bike as he explained the controls while standing beside me. His explanation matched my driving lessons apart from positions of controls. When it was time to release the clutch, I let it go just a wee bit too quickly, the bike jumped into a wheelie and crashed into the side of a car that was parked nearby. We hightailed it and my friend never let me ride his cherished bike again. There were still plenty of other opportunities to borrow and returned depleted motorcycles around the neighborhood.
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