Gary Lloyd
Some of my earliest memories come from the uncomfortable seat of a green Huffy bike.
As a child of the ’90s, I grew up riding anything I could. Many of you did too. Flying down hills on bikes. Flailing in the air after a rough wave on the lake. Falling off skateboards and failing to slow down on rollerblades. Flipping the occasional six-gear Ariens riding lawnmower.
That last one might just be me.
Anyway, I think my son is now at the age when the love of wheels and speed exceed any fear of crashing. Bikes rule. Monster trucks are the coolest. Dump trucks and garbage trucks are must-see road attractions. What a time that is. I remember it all well. That green Huffy bike I rode until I outgrew it, probably daily. Before you can turn 16 and hit the road in some hand-me-down Honda, a bicycle represents childhood freedom.
Freedom to leave home on your own. Freedom to choose to turn left down Reid Drive or right down into the cul-de-sac of Cooper Avenue. Freedom to sing aloud any of your favorite songs of the day. I don’t remember what all I belted out of tune from the seats of that Huffy, but I remember a buddy and I hollering the lyrics to Smash Mouth’s “All Star” moments before a Logan Martin Lake wave expelled us from an inner tube into the Alabama sky.
Now, I’m seeing my son reach this boyhood milestone. It started with an indoor balance bike. Then came Big Wheels. Now, he has an outdoor balance bike, essentially a regular bicycle, sans the pedals. He is a natural, with tremendous balance. He went fast before he took his time.
He rides this bike before school and again as soon as he comes home in the afternoon. On weekends, he is outside cutting the corner between the driveway and nearby sidewalk before 7:30 a.m. His excitement is impossible to contain. I often must remind him that it is still early in the morning, that the neighbors might still be asleep.
What really got me recently was I could hear him singing while biking up from behind me on the sidewalk beside our house, about 30 minutes before I took him to school. While I sang lyrics about not being the sharpest tool in the shed and every song off the Linkin Park “Hybrid Theory” album, my kid was passing by me while singing worship music.
It may have been early in the morning, but he got to sing that one as loudly as he liked.
Gary Lloyd is the author of six books and a contributing writer to the Cahaba Sun.
