Red, White and Blue
By Phil Palladino
March 2, 2009
Red, white and blue! So attractive! From my second story bedroom window, the object of my love tantalized me. I was obsessed.
No, it wasn't the most voluptuous blonde I had ever seen dressed in the all American colors. I was only ten years old. Rather, it was the bicycle "for sale" for twenty-five dollars, proudly displayed in front of the gas station across the street.
The red, white and blue streamers beckoning from the handle grips, the chrome fenders, the sound of a real horn, and the flash of the light affixed to the handle bars, made this machine quite fetching.
I had witnessed Emerson Chapel working hard on this bike to prep it for sale. Through my eyes, it was perfect, and I had to have it. I was tired of chasing the other kids most of whom were older than I. George had taught me how to ride. Dad knew it was right for me to have a two-wheeler.
We walked across the street to the dirt covered filling station, littered with spent oil cans. Mr. Chapel, Emerson's father, sporting tan mechanic's coveralls and large greasy arms, greeted us cheerfully and while he wiped more grease from his hands, he invited me to take a test run. Then I used all the driving skills taught me by George. I had to make sure that Dad knew that I could ride. I circled the area, weaving around the gas pumps and mountains of oil cans, and came to a rolling halt in front of Dad and Mr. Chapel.
The brakes seemed soft, but manageable to me. I had a hunch that bad brakes would be a deal killer. Dad's only question was "How are the brakes?" "Fine!" I replied.
Dad offered twenty dollars and a deal was struck. I no longer had to chase the other boys who rode their classy Schwinns, Columbias and Shelbys. I kept up with my customized, eye-popping, nearly brakeless Rollfast.
During the time of my "love affair", I learned to fix brakes, shine fenders, mend tires, replace worn out parts, and a lot more.
