The bicycle was brown and white, no gears. Old and plain, but it was a hot rod to me. It had been thoroughly used by my older brother, and would pass on to my younger one after my years with it. It is still my favorite bike.
Our house, the one provided for the pastor of the Bethany Baptist Church, was on Gladstone Boulevard in Kansas City. The Boulevard was wide and overlooked a basin in which were the trains. Though the street wasn’t occupied with too many cars, it was still off limits. The strip between the street and the sidewalk were free range for us, however, at least down to Dutch’s house and one block up where another street crossed.
But, first, I had to learn how to brake and steer, and it was my dad’s duty and privilege to guide me through this right of passage for a young child. We didn’t have “balance bikes” back then, but went straight for the real thing.
It was a typical learning experience for the most part, except for one memorable aspect. He held the bike as I learned how to peddle. Then he taught me how to brake. That took a little work. Steering while at the same time staying balanced was the real challenge.
Okay. We were now ready for the first trial run on my own. We started at the end of the driveway, hoping to head straight down the sidewalk until, likely with help, I would brake. But, the sidewalk ran along side two purple sticker bushes on my right, the kind you hated for your ball to go into. They were on each side of our entrance walk and were taller than I was — thick with thorns.
I started and did alright for the first five or six feet while being cheered on, but for some mysterious reason, I began to veer to the right and could not, no matter how hard I tried or with whatever resolve I could muster combine the steering and leaning and braking to my advantage. In two agonizing seconds, which have been replayed several times in my mind, the bush sucked me in like a vacuum cleaner. It became one of those mental videos that could not be deleted.
Tears followed, a pep talk, and I was back in training. I soon learned how to go fast, skid, and brake and spin the bike around. Before you knew it, I was attaching baseball cards to the bike frame to make a motorcycle sound as they stoked the spokes. A lot of life was spent on that bike, and no doubt more lessons were learned. This one is still useful: “At first, imagination about something good exceeds ability, but practice infused with the grace of God brings them together.” It hasn’t been wasted.
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This episode in my life will be in The Stories I Tell, hopefully out this year. The stories will cover all periods of my life, some those simple stories of childhood and others of experiences in far off places as through 60 years of ministry. I hope my family will enjoy these especially. It’s a privilege to share some of them with you also. Here’s another: The Cupcake Transgression.
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