A black boys’ bike, picked up from the neighbors’ trash

Chloe Smiley - Clarkson, MI

A black boys’ bike, picked up from the neighbors’ trash

My first real bike was a black boys' bike, picked up from the neighbors trash.  I was unusually short, but it was the perfect size for me (once my parents tied wooden blocks onto the pedals, that is).  I remember spending hours going in circles in a nearby parking lot so I could outpedal my older sister in the inevitable bike races.  That drive to be first is also what made me fall in love with my first mountain bike that took me across miles and miles of trails and races.  I first met that bike on a spring afternoon.  I had come home early from school feeling very ill, but when my parents mentioned a bike for sale nearby, I instantly recovered.  We bought it that day and it has been one of my best friends ever since.  It's definitely worse for wear, but I'm not sure I'll ever be able to part with it.  Too much blood, sweat, and tears have been poured out between us to simply move on to a new one.

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