Biker Brother

My mom and dad, Carl and Sybil Miner Beck bought a bicycle for me when I was a child. I’m not sure of the brand, but was probably bought from Montgomery Ward or Sears and Roebuck. The bike was bright red with white pinstripes. It came with training wheels. The tires were solid rubber. The bicycle was probably twenty inches high. I was very happy to have a new bicycle. I cared for the bike, keeping it clean, riding it in our yard only. I outgrew it and my parents saved it for my brother Ken, who was four years younger than me. It was in pristine condition when my brother inherited it.

That didn’t last long. Once Ken decided he no longer needed training wheels, he removed them himself and became a holy terror on wheels. Riding in the yard lost its appeal and he became a daredevil making challenges for himself and the bicycle. In front of my parent’s home is a steep hill that makes part of Route 711. He would ride the bicycle to a spot near the top. It was still in my parent’s yard, but was as far as he could “safely” go.

Once he was sure there was no vehicle traffic, he would hop on the seat and start peddling like a madman. He would hurtle along the Macadam roadway, whizzing past the front of our house. Partway down the hillside, there was a deep drainage ditch. On one side was a high bank that had a gentle slope at one end. That slope drew my brother like flies to an outhouse. The rocky surface gave the bicycle traction and my brother would ride it to the top, where he would slam on the brakes to stop in a cloud of dust. He would sit there for a while with a victorious smirk on his face. This was his thrills and would repeat the runs time after time.

Needless to say, the bicycle didn’t remain pristine for long. As a matter of fact, Ken wore the solid rubber tires in a shirt time. The tires were shredded and the steel wire cores were exposed.