THE JOY OF BEING ALIVE

I have had the privilege of owning only one bicycle in my life. Dad found it in a junk yard and the frame was kinda broken (guess someone ran over it with a car?)

Dad drilled holes in the top rail and the bottom rail and put bolts thru each rail and attached them to a piece of chain. When he tightened the bolts, the chain tightened, and it held the frame together. (Yeah, I know regular folks would have just welded the sucka, but we were, well "Wright City" folks, and plumb poor butt.

The tires were "slick as glass" with no tread and I became somewhat expert at the art of "flat fixin". I would ease them casins off the rim, strip the tube out, and find the offending air leaking hole (East Texas grass burrs was like Al Queda roadside bombs!). Then I would get my "Camel" brand tire patch kit and use the supplied piece of sandpaper to rough up the area around the hole. Ya then would put the "patch" on the tube with a "C" clamp, and after roughing up the paper looking backing on the patch, use a match to set it on fire. I reckon the heat from the fire would "fuse" the patch to the tube (IF YUR BUTT WAS EXTRA DARN LUCKY!) Anywho, spent a considerable amount of time on that enterprise (heck, had more time than anything else so no big deal?)

The "rear gears" in the bicycle was plumb "smooth mouth" as Dad would say. For the most part, you could pedal that sucka like a banshee and it would just spin with no forward impetus. Ever once in a while, just enough to keep you interested, it would "catch" and I could pedal like the wind itself (not sure I have ever felt more "free" than on that bicycle with no worries, no schedule, no responsibilities, and probably no "brains")

There were hills between us and Grandmother's house? LOVED them down-hills (could coast and dream of Cadillacs), cain't say much good about them up-hills as had to mostly push that sucka.

Reminds me of a "Gene" story. Dad found a motorcycle frame one time with no motor, but good wheels. According to Dad, him and four other broncs would "ride" the motorcycle to Kilgore (nuthin' but up-down hills all the way?). Dad said they would take turns pushing it up the hills, and then all pile on and "RIDE" down the hills. I have always had an image of Dad and four other guys hanging on that motorcycle frame with the wind in their hair, grinnin' like there was no tomorrow, and just feelin' the ride with no thought of jobs, troubles, nuthin' but fun! Is that good times or what?

Lord, if it be Your will, figuratively provide me with a "vehicle" to take me back to that time of utter pleasure with no worries, no stress, and just pure unadulterated joy at being alive.