In 1966, I was eight and the neighborhood was filled with kids. The Neighborhood was Klein Ave from what was called Old 59 ( Now West Nyack Rd) to West Street where it turned and went a little way down West St. Everything else was the 'Development'. It was the development because in the early 1960's someone came in and built all the houses on lower Klein Ave. (from the third house on the right after Benson Ave. that was once the Ruddens house.) Hunter Place, Sable Court, Adele Rd. They even sprinkled some in along West Street and even more on Theresa Dr.
I really never associated with the development kids, they were from the city. Back to bikes.
The Day I first rode my bike without training wheels maybe just my imagination, but I swear this is the way it happened. It's spring I imagine, early one evening. The sun hasn't touched the tops of the trees yet. I'm sitting on my bike, my feet just barely touching the ground. Our gravel driveway on the southern side of the house is still in full sun light and empty.
My Dad, I don't remember where he comes from, but he asks me if I want to have the training wheels taken off my bike. I say, "yes". Once off the anticipation begins to build, or maybe it's fright, I don't know. My dad holds the bike and I get on. He tell me he will push the bike and I should start to pedal. He starts to push, my feet come off the ground and on to the pedals a little early, the bike wobbles a little. My dad picks up speed as I pedal harder. I'm pedaling harder and harder going fast. I'm suddenly alone. I continue to pedal fearing that if I stop, I'll fall off the bike. I don't know for how long I ride, but when I stop I think it's a combination of stopping and falling off the bike. As the days go by it gets easier and easier to ride my bike.Every kid worth his salt had a bike. One of the new style of bikes that was modeled after motorcycles, I think. They had the high handlebars and the banana seat, short or no fenders and were the coolest bikes ever made. Every kid had a bike. I don't want to over state it, but every kid had a bike. I used to ride my bike up to the Clarksville corners, when it was a gas station to get free air in my tires. I always felt like I was stealing something when I'd just go up to the air pump. I'd take the hose, without asking and put some air in my tires. I'd always put too much in the tire and make them rock hard which would cause them to puncture easy.
The Elementary School had a bike rack back then. It was between the teachers parking lot and the circular driveway to the front entrance. I always wanted to ride my bike to school, but my father never let me. He said it was too dangerous. Years later they moved the bike rack closer to the front door, then one day the bike rack was gone. Changing times kill another perceived staple.
Late one school year, I think I was in fifth or sixth grade and everyone was setting up for the school carnival. It was a half day and I went home and rode my bike back to school. I helped set up the carnival and went to go home. I sat on my cool Schwinn Racing Bike at what I imagined to be the very top of the hill and wondered how fast could I go if I started pedaling as hard as I could going down hill. I backed up a few yards because that would make all the difference. I started to rolled forward, because a rolling start would help me to go faster and I started pedaling as hard as I could. The first one was a hard downward push of my left. My right leg came off the ground and found its place as it had been trained to do over all the years. It pushes down as my left circles up on its side. Each rotation growing easier and quicker, the bike moving faster and faster. About half way down the hill I lean into the soft bank of it's curve, as the road leans to the left, with no problem, my feet an effortless blur on the pedals. Coming out of the turn I view the four corners. Even in that year and time of day traffic was expected. I begin to break and then felt I'd ruin it if I did. I caught between chanceing God's good graces and the grille of a solid gas guzzling 1960's All American car. So I play it half way and coast under the red light with no consequences. I'm feeling lucky and exhilarated. I've just sped down the school hill. At the end of the Clarksville corners property there was a creek and near the road was a bump. I knew about the bump having hit it with my bike before, but at much slower speeds, but I'd hit it. I'm coming up on the bump now, should I go left into the road or right and squeeze between the creek and the bump? Left, right, which way? I hit it straight on. I think the bike does a front wheel stand as I go A over T, head over heels, slide for home. My left forearm hits the gravel first, I think that only because of the long red robe burn with the bits of gravel still in it I discover later. I don't know if I crumble into a ball, do a flip, or a belly flop. I do remember sitting up and brushing myself off. I don't remember if my jeans were torn or if my shirt was ripped. I do remember thinking, I rode the school hill and lived to tell about it. The funny thing about it I don't think I ever told anybody about it.
I did try the school hill run again, but the next time and the time after that there were cars in the intersection and I thought God was telling me I'd pushed my luck enough on that hill.
Like every permanent thing in the world, bikes have mostly disappeared. No longer do you see kids out riding their bikes to the store or their friends house. It's a different world now.
