A New Bike! and a broken heart...

OK--So I haven't written another old Christmas tale for a few days.  It has been a bit hectic.  Grandma and I went up to the cabin Friday after work.  One family was thinking about coming up on Saturday after a wrestling tournament.  It snowed more than comfortable (but we love the snow-need the H2O and to refresh the sledding hill), and we ended up coming home Saturday afternoon.   The aforementioned family came to our home instead of the cabin, and we have had some Cousin Time for the past couple of days.  As the grandchildren get older and larger, it seems like our little home gets smaller.  Those youngsters can also eat!  It is wonderful having them here.  But I did not get any old-man reminiscing done.

But now I am!

I always loved having a bike to ride.  One of my earliest memories is taking my neighbor's granddaughter for rides on my old, giant tricycle.  She would stand on the platform between the rear wheels-the old tricycles were actually designed to allow you to give rides to your friends-and around the block, up and down the sidewalk we would go.  Ah, the freedom of the open road.  Or, at least of the sidewalk.  I wasn't allowed to cross the road.  But-it was still the feeling of wind in my hair and drool down my chin!  (Come on! I was on a tricycle.  I must have been, what, 2 or 3?  I bet you did a bit of drooling yourself when you were that age!)

Later, I acquired a blue Schwinn two wheeler. The Blue Bomber. That bike was my freedom, my friend, my escape for several years.  It had "husky" balloon tires that could go over and through anything!   Mud, dirt, grass (but not on the Bourne's yard, unless I wanted an angry phone call to my mother because I "ruined" their perfect lawn), ditches, wet concrete,....well, maybe not the concrete.  At least not on purpose.  I don't think anyone saw, so you can't prove anything.  Those tracks could have been made by any bike.
 It also did a good job of knocking out my younger brother, Steven, one time.  Or was it a couple of times.  Don't worry, there was not significant brain damage.  That we know of.  He was only unconscious for a little while.  Another story for another time.

Anyway-I loved my bike.  But, as I got older and bigger, and my friends got bigger, cooler bikes, and my  younger brother was eyeing my Blue Bomber (looking for revenge?), I started to hope and dream about a newer, faster bike. I never thought that I would actually get one, however.  New bikes were for the rich kids.  Like my cousin, Danny.  He had a new Stingray with a banana seat and high rise handle bars.  It was pretty cool, but I wanted a full-sized, fast bike with Speeds.  Danny's older brother had a Racing Bike.  It had a cool lever on the right handle with a lever that let you shift through 3 speeds!  Can you imagine?!  You could make the pedaling easier to go up hills,and shift to a higher gear when racing down Vidas Avenue with your friends.

Alas, I knew I would never, ever get a bike with Speeds (gears to you all).

It was with wide-eyed wonder when I got up on Christmas morning in my 11th year (meaning I was 10 1/2), and there, in our little living room, next to the tree, were not 1, but 2, brand-spankin' new bicycles.  A blue one and (obviously for me, since my favorite color was red) a red one!  They hadn't ever been ridden by any other kids.  We were the first owners-unheard of!  Oh, the blue one was for my older brother Randy, which meant that Steve could now start plotting his revenge using my old Blue Bomber, that he would now inherit.

Now, bicycles were not Christmas-time presents.  First, we couldn't afford them.  Second, it was typically winter-meaning snow and ice and not a lot of bike riding.  Also, my birthday is the 19th of May.  (Yes, you may want to remember this for future reference).  And the 19th of May is a much more reasonable day for bicycle receiving.  Nonetheless, I was happier than a 10 year old boy in a burping contest after a quart of root beer!  A New Bike!  Red!  And-best of all-it had Speeds!  2 of them, to be exact.  It had a magic rear hub, so, when you pedaled backwards slightly, it would shift to either High Speed or Low Speed.  Now, this was a bit of a bother, because it would shift every time I hit the brakes, but shifting again, if needed, was easy to do.  I put a lot of miles on that bike that winter.  But I never rode it to Madison Elementary.  It was easy to walk to school.  I could stomp the ice over the puddles on the sides of the roads with my logger boots.  And-most importantly-my bike would not be stolen from the bike rack at the school.

I Loved That Bike (maybe not as much as the Blue Bomber, but the Bomber and I had had much more time to bond).  And it was fast.  I don't recall loosing any races down Vidas Avenue (except to Barbara B, who was a few years older, and was the toughest kid on the block...) on my new steed.
Then, in early summer-so around my birthday, my older brother and his friend (the bishop's son) wanted to ride bikes to Grand Central.  Grand Central was a big store way down on State Street.
Now, my brother's friend did not have a cool 2 speed bike, and my brother wanted me to let his friend ride mine.  I had a bad feeling about this, but, being the good younger brother I was, agreed.  I told them to be careful and not wreck, lose, abuse my mostly new bike.  I am sure what they heard was "Blah, blah, blah".

Down 3rd East toward 27th South they rode.  And, as they turned the corner at Farrer's Market, I had the last look I would ever have of my beloved new bike.

Yes, you guessed correctly.  Some slime ball stole my bike from in front of Grand Central.  Low life bike lifter!  Randy and his friend came home pushing Randy's bike and without mine.
I did shed some tears.  My dad and I drove around the area over and over for the next couple of weeks, looking for a shiny, red 2 speed Schwinn.  Alas, we never did find it.  We called and went down to the Police station, looking at bicycles they had picked up and giving them the description and serial number of my bike.  But it was never found.

Now, I know the loss of my bike was not at Christmas time.  But I connect my bike to Christmas because that is when I got it.  It did hurt my heart when I lost my bike, but did it make Christmas any less of a time of happiness and joy and excitement?  Maybe it did for awhile, I don't recall.

 Christmas was and is a time for family and giving (and getting) and eating and feeling good that Heavenly Father gave us His Son.  Even if I didn't know what that meant.  I felt it was important.  And it is more important than a new, 2 speed, red bicycle.  Much more important.

Many things we get at Christmas will break, be lost somehow, or lose their luster.
The things that don't are those things given from the heart and those things our loved ones sacrifice to share with us.
We will share presents with others that come from the heart, involve a degree (sometimes great) of sacrifice, are given with the hope that the recipient will have some idea of the love and care the gift represents, and are the Best we can do.

When we give the Best we can, even if it is small and unimpressive by the world's measurements, we share our love. My Mom and Dad sacrificed and thought and cared to get us our bicycles.  Even if my bike was stolen and gone, I know my parents had given me their love and  a part of themselves in what they had to do to get me that bike.

Heavenly Father gave us the Very Best.  His Son.  That is what we celebrate-and this is great cause to celebrate-at Christmas time.  And, in return, He asks us for our Very Best.  For our kindness, caring, love and service to our brothers and sisters.  And our hearts.  He gave us His and continues to do so.

(Yes-I did return to the blue bomber, but I did not run over my little brother any more (that I remember).  Actually, I think we shared the grand old bike and had an understanding that we would not do each other bodily harm with the old beast.  Talk about your brotherly love!)