My earliest memory of bike riding as a child begins with me on the back of my dad’s bike sitting just above the back tire on a block of foam taped to the book carrier with my legs dangling in home made metal baskets. Our family would go on evening bike rides with other families in our neighborhood, specifically the McNowns and Farners. We would ride all over the tiny town of Towanda Kansas. I remember holding on to the back of my dad, whom I thought was the strongest and most kind man ever. Hearing his fun banter with the group and knowing he had a smile on his face just like me. Dad would peak back at me from time to time and say “How you doing squirt?” My pony tails flying behind me at the rate of the speed of his pedaling I would shoot back to him an enthusiastic “Good!”. I was experiencing a perfect place and time of my childhood and the young me seemed to know it. I was in for an adventure, I wasn’t alone on this trip but with some of my favorite people in the small world in which I knew.
The bikes rides always ended at our house, with all the adults chattering and the kids running in the side yard, catching lightening bugs, making bracelets and rings with them (I know bug cruelty but I felt like a princess in the night all lit up and beautiful.) An exciting game of kick the can would always happen. I being one of the smallest would participate and the older kids would be gentle with me. They would let me hid with them even though my lightening bug jewelry might give us away. I remember running as fast as I could to jump over that can before my name was called.
As I sit here and write this I can see, hear and smell those days. Always in my mind and heart
