TALES: A crappy bike; a quality moment

My wife came home the other night with a rust-encrusted, store-brand cruiser she'd found curbside, in the hope that we could clean it up for her mom, who'll be visiting soon. I wanted a picture of our new addition before I started working on it, so I got my daughter to hop on. Though I still have hope, my daughter's younger off-road bike exploits (and some terrific crashes) have caused her some resistence to riding, so it's a rare sight indeed to see her on one. To be honest, she's said the only way she'll bike again is if she gets out of school to do it.

Anyway, she spent less than two minutes on the bike -- long enough for one ride down a grass embankment -- and promptly went back inside the house. What amazed me was the exilaration I saw on her face when I looked at the blurry picture that developed. In that brief moment, the cruiser made her forget how much she doesn't like bikes.

Half an hour later, the cruiser --not worth the effort -- sat dead on the curb with its handlebar stem still siezed sideways to the $4.95 fork set after years of neglect. But not before it, like so many other discarded bikes, had provided one last bit of invaluable joy to a rider.