The last memory I have of the banana seat bike from yesterday’s post was going over the handlebars and scraping up my nose on the sidewalk in front of the laundromat on Bald Eagle Street in Lock Haven. The absurdity of it. A buddy of mine came running to help, and it just so happened that he was in his Boy Scout uniform, probably getting ready to go to a club meeting. The memory is better than a scene from That Seventies Show, me trying to wave him away, crying but embarrassed and wanting to be left alone, not rescued.
Aside from being pushed off my bike by a bully once, the only other memory I can summon about tiger-striped banana seat cycle is getting stung by a yellow jacket that had been resting under the handlebar when I grabbed hold of it. Ouch. I’ve hated bees and anything with a stinger ever since.
Eventually, after we moved to Charlton, I remember having a ten-speed bike. I can’t say that I ever really got the hang of working those gears because it always felt so tough to pedal, but we did have a lot of fun racing downhill past a church and onto River Road. Had there been any cars coming, it could have gotten ugly. Those were the days before safety helmets too. Somehow we all survived. Isn’t that the Gen X mantra?
And for our finale this week, this song needs no introduction.
Jeff's Song of the Day 