The scent of bicycle chain oil recalls the early voyages of exploration beyond the narrow corridors of my Water Street neighborhood. Freedom on two wheels.
My green, third-hand Western Flyer bike took me to streets where houses larger than I ever knew stood. Free-riding down steep streets, the acceleration blowing back my hair, with my spoke card revving like a Harley. I’d ride to the city’s core and riverside, racing long red freighters and CNR trains back to my house and, the next day, travel again.
A summer of discovery by bike, a love of freedom forever.
Wonderful sensory descriptions! I have very fond memories of riding my bike down a big hill in an old neighborhood 😊
Same here, the cards on spokes wizzing down the hills. What great times in those day to be a kid. Thank you for sharing your memories 🙂