×

COUNTRY ROADS: A softer seat and longhorn handlebars

Arvid Huisman.

Walking down a street several years ago, I spotted a bicycle parked in front of a commercial building. It wasn’t just any bicycle; it was a real bike!

Translation: the bike had balloon tires, a large, soft seat and handlebars that tilted up instead of down.

Though the design was old fashioned the bicycle looked like new. A young woman sitting on a nearby step appeared to be the owner so I asked about the wonderful bike.

It was relatively new, she said. She and her husband had purchased a pair of the bikes. She didn’t look old enough to remember the original balloon-tired wonders but she was most enthusiastic about her bike.

That bike brought back a lot of memories, back to when I was six-years-old and my parents bought my first bike. It was an older, used bike — a full size, balloon-tired model.

I was sort of built like a balloon, but I wasn’t full size yet, so I experienced some difficulties at first.

A tree stump in the backyard provided a good place to mount the bike, but dismounting involved crash-landing in a grassy area. This is when I learned to hate thistles.

Within three years, I had worn out that first bike. I spotted a new red and white model at the Gambles Store in Jewell and, with my savings in hand, accompanied Dad to make the purchase.

Over a period of time, I equipped this bike with a headlight, a speedometer, a battery-powered horn and colorful plastic streamers for the handle bar grips. It was a real hoot to tie a partially inflated balloon to a fender brace and make the bike sound like a motorcycle.

Noise didn’t provide enough excitement, however, so we built ramps. A piece of scrap lumber and a concrete block to hold up one end was all it took. With enough speed, one could be airborne for at least six feet before hitting the ground with a thud.

There were three serious dangers to this practice: (a) crashing and breaking a bone, (b) slipping and ruining the prospects of fatherhood, and (c) breaking the bicycle frame.

Though I crashed and slipped more than a few times I avoided the more serious consequences. I did, however, have problems with (c.) On a number of occasions I had to walk my broken bike to Perry Ayers’ blacksmith shop. Perry would stop whatever he was doing to make a quick repair.

His charge was always the same: “Two bits.”

Inside the shop, Perry had posted a sign which read, “In God we trust; all others pay cash.” I always made sure I had a quarter in my pocket when I took my bike in for a repair.

By the time I was 12, I had worn out this bike and we had moved to the country. The kid who lived across the road was a year and half older than I was and owned a Cushman motor scooter. No longer needing a bicycle, he sold me his red, black and white balloon-tired two-speed bike.

On a few occasions I rode this bike into nearby Kamrar, about three miles away. Later, after we moved into Kamrar, it served me well until it wasn’t cool to ride a bike anymore and I sold it to a younger brother.

Meanwhile, I bought a siren for the bike. It mounted on the fork and when you pulled on the attached chain the shaft came into contact with the side of the tire, turning the siren mechanism. At about 15 m.p.h., it created a terrific wail, similar to that of emergency vehicles of the day.

In a larger community, I would probably have been arrested. In Kamrar, the good folks tolerated me.

Seldom did anything exciting happen there, anyway. So, when they heard the siren, they figured it was just the crazy Huisman kid.

About that time, bicycle design began taking a terrible turn. First, they made those low-slung banana-seat bikes and then the lightweight ten-speeds with hard, skinny seats and goofy handlebars.

I tried riding my kids’ ten-speeds when they were younger, but they hurt my back and butt.

What I need is a heavy-duty, full-framed bike with an ample, soft seat, balloon tires, longhorn handlebars and ten-speed shifting mechanism. The hills seem to be steeper these days, you know.

Newsletter

Today's breaking news and more in your inbox

I'm interested in (please check all that apply)
Are you a paying subscriber to the newspaper? *
   

Starting at $3.46/week.

Subscribe Today