Spirited Bicycles.

During a friend’s birthday bash yesterday, we hopped on his BMX outlined with rust. A slightly crooked handlebar, tattered pedals, rotten paint, and the chain left ungreased with a lubricant for years. I suppose, its size fits for an elementary student. All of us (out of six girls, two knew how to do it) were longing for a bike scene amidst the bushes and humps of the local roads. I hopped in first, and my childish spirit went back to life.

I could still remember my first bike. Four wheels; one at the front, one at the back, and two for both sides of the rear wheel. Since I was an inexperienced driver, I need those two little wheels at the back for maximum balance. After months of constant training, I could balance myself. The next bike would be the famous street bike ‘BMX’, for rocky roads, perfect for tropical terrain. The bike was splattered with green and black, with a handlebar, perfect brakes, and fat wheels.

Once, I tried to become a racer with my BMX. The result? Boom. I collided with a garage gate! The impact was nice and hard that the car behind it had scratches. With fear, I picked up my bike and went away. Until now, I still remember that house and it’s good that they failed to recognize my face as I sped away.

I also got my first and last taste of violence just because of the bike.

Due to my extreme generosity, I lent my bike to a stranger and went home walking. He borrowed it, and since I am raised as a kind-hearted boy (sweet), I complied with what he wants. He insisted, so I gave him the bike. I just told him to bring it back (as if he knew my house), and walked away. The next thing I remember, my Dad gripped his belt and smashed me in the butt (where else?). My Mom stopped my Dad and clarified the situation, redeemed the bike, and advised me not to be a Samaritan.

My fear with dogs (though not that intense since it’s not a phobia) increased since my weekly stroll over the neighborhood would always be pestered by stray dogs; mouth bubbling with rabies, hungry for human meat. Good thing, I haven’t lost a single race with those creatures since they end up tired or lost. Haha. With every unfortunate encounter, I make sure to mark those roads as dog-prone zones.

I entered High School and bought a mountain bike. Superb design, thin wheels, lightweight (aluminum alloy), stainless, Shimano brakes (and when you say it’s Shimano, the brake could kill somebody if gripped with maximum force. Either tumilapon ka at mauna ka sa bike or other worse-case scenarios), a gear shifter (whatever the name is), and a flashlight installed infront of it for night journeys.

I’ve enjoyed kicking those dogs who had the guts to follow and run after me (yeah, I kick their heads while biking and they’d stop from running). I buy monay every night for tomorrow’s recess – hamburger. I’ve enjoyed the company of nature: I’d go to Phase Five and look at the lake, and stare at the lighthouse and the sunset. A lovely sight, great for a postcard.

Enough with the story. Those nostalgic memories happened somewhere between 2003 and 2005. Now, the mountain bike has been kept at the basement. I lost my interest with biking. I slightly believe that bicycles have their spirits (sorry for my poor and weird imagination). And somehow, that mountain bike must be weeping for years since I never used it anymore.

One of these days, I promise to hop on it again and relive those days.

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Just a thought: I’d choose bicycles over motorcycles. Pollution-free, safe, and a fat burner. Those motorcycles even killed a batchmate’s father, and injured a servicemate and a classmate’s brother. Plus, the gasoline. Yet, those street guys would flaunt their junk hoppers along the highway.

Bicycles could be out of place in today’s techno-showdown, but for me – it’s not just a one-of-a-kind invention. But a spirited object whom I treasured much.

~ by utakgago on January 14, 2007.