Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?
~ Sun-kissed Asphalt and a Dragon-Tamed Brake: My Ode to the Red Bike ~
Sun-dappled asphalt stretched before me, an infinite canvas waiting for the brushstrokes of my tiny, wobbly wheels. Five years old, I wasn’t just learning to ride a bicycle; I was painting a masterpiece of freedom with each wobbly turn. My trusty steed wasn’t a textbook definition, but a rusty red contraption with two whispers of wheels and a heart of scratched chrome. It had training wheels, sure, but they were more like benevolent dragons I’d soon tame.
My father, a patient knight, held the reins while I learned to whisper to the pedals, my knees pistons pumping a symphony of anticipation. The wind, my ever-present bard, sang tales of victory in my ears as I conquered each uncertain wobble, each scraped knee a badge of courage, each tumble a stepping stone to mastery.
Then, one glorious day, the dragon-taming commenced. The training wheels, their scales dulled by countless battles, were shed with a triumphant clang. My red bike, now truly free, and so was I. We were a blur of red and wind, houses dissolving into a watercolor landscape, my legs pistons driving us onward.
The brake, a temperamental beast with a mind of its own, was a constant negotiation. Gentle nudges, pleading whispers, and sometimes, a firm foot-stomp were the only languages it understood. But oh, the joy of mastering that beast! Each controlled stop was a victory dance, each near-miss a thrilling tale whispered to the wind.
My red bike wasn’t just metal and rubber. It was a passport to independence. I was no longer a toddler confined to the sidewalk; I was a knight, my domain the entire block of houses, my red steed my trusty chariot. I crisscrossed the asphalt kingdom, ruler of the wind in my hair, lord of the sun-warmed handlebars.
But, as with all epic tales, there came a shadow. One day, the yard stood empty, the usual symphony of laughter replaced by a chilling silence. My red bike, my loyal dragon, had been stolen. The emptiness echoed louder than any dragon’s roar, leaving a hollowness in my five-year-old heart.
But even in the face of loss, hope bloomed. Soon, a new steed arrived, a BIG red bike that dwarfed its predecessor. With it, I reclaimed the kingdom, pedaling from one end of town to the other, a testament to the enduring spirit of the first red bike.
That spirit lives on in every vehicle I’ve owned since, a whisper of wind in my hair, a reminder of scraped knees and dragon-taming brakes, of the sun-kissed asphalt and the boundless freedom of a five-year-old heart on a red bike.
© Jurgens Pieterse. All rights reserved. 2024
zeal4living