Visions of bicycles dancing in our heads

Birthdays and Christmas bicycles always marked special events. A coming of age. I always thought every youngster wanted a two-wheeler and, unknown to our youngest, this particular Christmas his big moment had arrived.

Our youngest son was led back to his bedroom while one of the older youngsters went to the shed and wheeled in the bright red new bicycle. The Christmas tree lights bounced off the new two-wheeler when, with promises to keep his eyes tightly closed until we gave the signal, our son was led to the Christmas tree.

I remember how excited we were about his first two-wheeler. We watched him, waiting for his surprise. But when he opened his eyes, he let out a wail and ran from the room. We all sat there stunned. Then, the older children came to and started yelling for him to come back and try his new bicycle.

Puzzled, I went to his room, Big tears streamed down his face. Quietly, I asked him what was the matter. At first, he just turned away from me. Then he faced me and snapped, “You know I don’t know how to ride a two-wheeler!” I told him he would learn. Still sobbing, he snapped again, “How can I learn to ride with snow on the ground?” I assured him that with the dining room furniture moved back, he would learn in no time at all. And long before the snow melted, our five-year-old was zooming around the dining room.

With time, he outgrew this bicycle. Maybe for his birthday I could fix up a hand-me-down. I poked around our barn and dragged out his older brother’s bicycle. Even under cover, it had become rusty, but it was larger and just might work.

At our local bicycle shop they couldn’t even give me an estimate. Spanning the nine-year difference between these two sons, Schwinn had made this bicycle more than a dozen years ago. The mechanics couldn’t even remember when they had seen a bicycle like it. Before putting time into it, they would check with Schwinn about parts, then give me a call.

A couple of things made this bicycle look strange. The front wheel was small, more like the size of a small child’s tricycle. With a large back wheel, the appearance was way off kilter. With an unusually long seat and very wide handlebars, this bicycle was designed to do wheelies. When it was new, the neighborhood kids congregated in our yard and on our new hard top driveway, zoomed around, lifted up the front wheel of their standard bicycles to imitate the Lemon Peeler and then balanced on the back wheel. Wheelies!

About a week later, the owner of the bicycle shop called. His crew couldn’t wait to try the Lemon Peeler. They never called Schwinn. They made parts, improvised and in short order and were out in the parking lot doing wheelies. If he could keep his crew off the Lemon Peeler, we could pick up our bicycle.

My older son complained about his little brother’s handling of the bright yellow, odd-looking bicycle. He didn’t like the way his brother rode the Lemon Peeler. He didn’t like the way his little brother left it in the yard. He scolded all of us about that old revived bicycle. And the gravelly driveway took its toll, but another generation waved that front wheel in the air and survived “jumps.” I don’t know if it was designed for “jumps!”

Like his older brother, my younger son outgrew this and he graduated to a new birthday bicycle, a 10-speed. When the 10-speed needed repair, we took the bicycle to the local shop and the owner wanted my younger son to stay right there with the bicycle. “He may as well learn to take care of his own bicycle,” he commented.

After that, whenever we would go to the dump, my younger son would bring back bicycle parts and build bicycles. While he was at the University of Maine, he worked part-time at Ski Rack Sports in Bangor, a bicycle and ski shop – or he worked full-time at the shop and went to the university part- time.

When I put my stuff in storage, everyone asked why I was keeping that rickety old bicycle, the old Lemon Peeler. They had questioned my saving it the last time. It had served two generations and they all agreed that it was time for me to let it go. I remember thinking, “Hmm … Maybe some day I would have it repaired for my grandchildren.”

Time passed and we were all at another point in our lives. My youngest had taken some furniture out of storage and when I went to check, I noticed a big gap where the Lemon Peeler had been. I asked my youngest son, and yes, he had taken the old bicycle, but he asked me not to tell anyone else in the family.

When my older son and his family returned to their home on Christmas day, he went down cellar to put away the bounty of Christmas gifts and let out a loud yelp. My daughter-in-law thought he hurt himself, and went down to check on him.

While they were away, my youngest son had parked the Lemon Peeler in the cellar. For weeks he had soaked the old bicycle parts in oil, sand blasted and brought the chrome back, spray painted the yellow and there it stood! He was not able to get a new seat, but the youngster who never took care of that old bicycle to suit his big brother really surprised him.

A special Christmas gift. A gift of love. The old Lemon Peeler for his big brother.

Barbara Murray Klopp of Orr’s Island is the author of “Alex & Zig” and an award-winner for children’s fiction through the Maine Media Women’s Association. Her work can be seen at www.alexzig.com.