No Brakes No Problem.
Bicycle, Bicycle, Bicycle. I want to ride my bicycle I want to ride my bike I want to ride it where I like. – Queen 1978
My first bicycle was a used standard cruiser single gear, gold SuperCycle with coaster brakes. It had a padded seat, silver fenders with a red reflector on the back and balloon tires. I don’t remember the year when it was given to me, but I most likely was about ten years old. My Uncle Nick gave it to me after a friend of his did not want it anymore. It was a larger bike, too big for my brother to ride so it would be my bicycle and mine only.
I loved that bike and I rode it everywhere around the old Lawrence Heights neighborhood. Behind our apartment there was the huge Simpson’s warehouse with acres of paved parking. I would literally ride around that massive building every summer hundreds of times. There was never any traffic so that is where I did most of my riding. I rode almost every day during the summer holidays except when it was raining and during the winter I stored my bike in our locker. After a few years of riding and not maintaining my bike properly, the coaster brake no longer worked.
My first bicycle was a used standard cruiser single gear, gold SuperCycle with coaster brakes. It had a padded seat, silver fenders with a red reflector on the back and balloon tires. I don’t remember the year when it was given to me, but I most likely was about ten years old. My Uncle Nick gave it to me after a friend of his did not want it anymore. It was a larger bike, too big for my brother to ride so it would be my bicycle and mine only.
I loved that bike and I rode it everywhere around the old Lawrence Heights neighborhood. Behind our apartment there was the huge Simpson’s warehouse with acres of paved parking. I would literally ride around that massive building every summer hundreds of times. There was never any traffic so that is where I did most of my riding. I rode almost every day during the summer holidays except when it was raining and during the winter I stored my bike in our locker. After a few years of riding and not maintaining my bike properly, the coaster brake no longer worked.
I had no brakes.
No problem.
I just removed the front fender and when I needed to stop I simply took my right foot off the pedal and reached over to place the sole of my running shoe on the moving front tire. The harder I pressed down on the tire, the quicker I stopped. When I was riding really fast I could smell the burning rubber from both the sole of my shoe and the tire.
I crashed my bicycle one sunny afternoon. I was speedily heading downhill when I started making a left turn. I tried to slow the bike down, but my foot slipped into the spokes since the front wheel was already angled for the turn. I instantly cartwheeled over the front handlebars and onto the hard pavement. My bike also violently spun out of control eventually coming to a stop after hitting a chain link fence.
I was all cut up and bleeding from severe road rash. My jeans were ripped in the knee and my shirt was all torn, but I was able to walk away with nothing but a lot of soreness. My bike was not so lucky. The front wheel rim was all bent and the forks along with the handlebars were all twisted. There was a bunch of front wheel spokes broken and I had a flat front tire.
That was the last day that I ever rode or saw my first bicycle. After surveying the damage, I just left it where it landed and walked back home. It was gone a couple hours later when I returned after having second thoughts about abandoning it. I was very lucky after that crash and even at my young age, I remember thinking it could have been much worse.
No problem.
I just removed the front fender and when I needed to stop I simply took my right foot off the pedal and reached over to place the sole of my running shoe on the moving front tire. The harder I pressed down on the tire, the quicker I stopped. When I was riding really fast I could smell the burning rubber from both the sole of my shoe and the tire.
I crashed my bicycle one sunny afternoon. I was speedily heading downhill when I started making a left turn. I tried to slow the bike down, but my foot slipped into the spokes since the front wheel was already angled for the turn. I instantly cartwheeled over the front handlebars and onto the hard pavement. My bike also violently spun out of control eventually coming to a stop after hitting a chain link fence.
I was all cut up and bleeding from severe road rash. My jeans were ripped in the knee and my shirt was all torn, but I was able to walk away with nothing but a lot of soreness. My bike was not so lucky. The front wheel rim was all bent and the forks along with the handlebars were all twisted. There was a bunch of front wheel spokes broken and I had a flat front tire.
That was the last day that I ever rode or saw my first bicycle. After surveying the damage, I just left it where it landed and walked back home. It was gone a couple hours later when I returned after having second thoughts about abandoning it. I was very lucky after that crash and even at my young age, I remember thinking it could have been much worse.
Back then nobody wore bike helmets.
It would be a year or so before I got another bicycle. My mother who always received a tax refund decided she would buy both my brother and me brand new bikes. She bought us each a white CCM Targa five speed bike. A few of our neighborhood Witness friends were also getting new CCM Targa bikes, but they were all getting the ten speeds.
My mother in her wisdom figured there would be more potential problems with a ten speed bike over a five speed. So it would be the five speed bikes for her two boys. Her JW friend Ron worked at the CCM factory and got all the bikes at a discount for everyone. Ron couldn't even persuade her to buy us the upgraded ten speeds. The five speeds were less than twenty bucks cheaper.
Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful to have a brand new bike. I truly was, but I always felt inferior to my friends with their ten speeds. I did not know anyone else who had a five speed bike. Even some of my childhood friends had a cruel way of making me feel inferior and I was the brunt of many welfare case jokes.
I can recall one memorable ride with my new five speed bike. My mother eventually also got her own bike. She was given a blue standard women's bike with a large wire basket mounted on the front handlebars.
All three of us now had bikes.
My grandmother lived in Willowdale and my mother thought it would be nice if the three of us all rode out to her house on one of our monthly visits. It would be close to a six mile journey and none of us had ever ridden that far before on busy city streets. It was very early one Saturday morning when we set out on our journey and we had to stop many times because my mother needed to rest. When we arrived at the York Mills and Yonge Street area we had what would be by far the fastest downhill ride any of us had ever ridden in our lives up to that day.
We were at the top of the hill known as Hoggs Hollow.
All three of us just flew down that hill, it was a scary experience and we all made it down safely. We stopped at the bottom and looked back up at the massive hill we had just descended. It was then that my mother decided we would be taking a different route home. There was absolutely no way she would even attempt to ascend that hill on Monday morning when we were heading back home.
As I got older, I did a lot less bike riding and I never can remember having my bike tuned up. I could fix a flat with a patch kit, but it took what felt like hours to complete. I would always be covered in grease by the time I was finished. Once I pinched the tube after fixing a flat and I had to repeat the whole process all over again. Spokes would break or get loose and then the wheel would wobble. I learned how to replace a spoke and true a wheel, but every repair I attempted was a huge ordeal and it always became a very time consuming and dirty job. Also, I never had the proper tools and I was not mechanically inclined whatsoever.
It would be a year or so before I got another bicycle. My mother who always received a tax refund decided she would buy both my brother and me brand new bikes. She bought us each a white CCM Targa five speed bike. A few of our neighborhood Witness friends were also getting new CCM Targa bikes, but they were all getting the ten speeds.
My mother in her wisdom figured there would be more potential problems with a ten speed bike over a five speed. So it would be the five speed bikes for her two boys. Her JW friend Ron worked at the CCM factory and got all the bikes at a discount for everyone. Ron couldn't even persuade her to buy us the upgraded ten speeds. The five speeds were less than twenty bucks cheaper.
Don’t get me wrong, I was grateful to have a brand new bike. I truly was, but I always felt inferior to my friends with their ten speeds. I did not know anyone else who had a five speed bike. Even some of my childhood friends had a cruel way of making me feel inferior and I was the brunt of many welfare case jokes.
I can recall one memorable ride with my new five speed bike. My mother eventually also got her own bike. She was given a blue standard women's bike with a large wire basket mounted on the front handlebars.
All three of us now had bikes.
My grandmother lived in Willowdale and my mother thought it would be nice if the three of us all rode out to her house on one of our monthly visits. It would be close to a six mile journey and none of us had ever ridden that far before on busy city streets. It was very early one Saturday morning when we set out on our journey and we had to stop many times because my mother needed to rest. When we arrived at the York Mills and Yonge Street area we had what would be by far the fastest downhill ride any of us had ever ridden in our lives up to that day.
We were at the top of the hill known as Hoggs Hollow.
All three of us just flew down that hill, it was a scary experience and we all made it down safely. We stopped at the bottom and looked back up at the massive hill we had just descended. It was then that my mother decided we would be taking a different route home. There was absolutely no way she would even attempt to ascend that hill on Monday morning when we were heading back home.
As I got older, I did a lot less bike riding and I never can remember having my bike tuned up. I could fix a flat with a patch kit, but it took what felt like hours to complete. I would always be covered in grease by the time I was finished. Once I pinched the tube after fixing a flat and I had to repeat the whole process all over again. Spokes would break or get loose and then the wheel would wobble. I learned how to replace a spoke and true a wheel, but every repair I attempted was a huge ordeal and it always became a very time consuming and dirty job. Also, I never had the proper tools and I was not mechanically inclined whatsoever.
After a few summers my Targa five speed bike became unrideable. It eventually turned into a piece of junk as did my brother's bike also. It would be many years later after I was married when I was reintroduced back into bike riding by my friend Paul. Paul was also a bike rider and a bike builder. He would assemble, repair and sell bikes at Collegiate Sports when I worked there.
It was with his advice that I purchased a large 23” frame Norco ten speed road bike from Tom’s Cycle in Toronto. I was 6’5” and for my height the larger Norco was a much quicker, but a much less comfortable ride. The frame was rigid and more responsive and with the narrower tires I felt every bump on the road. My new Norco enabled me to ride distances I had never ridden before. I quite often went on 50 km plus rides, but for me cycling became a very lonely endeavour. None of my friends were into bike riding and most did not even own a bike. For most of my longer rides I would usually venture off on a weekday when I had a day off.
On weekends I was usually busy and it would be hard to fit a long ride in. Although I always enjoyed riding my bicycle, I eventually lost interest and stopped riding altogether. However unlike my previous two bikes, I had kept my Norco well maintained and I never got rid of it. Instead I just kept it in my garage when I was married and then in my locker when I moved into a high rise condo after my divorce.
I knew in my heart that someday I would eventually ride my bike again.
I just never knew when.
It was with his advice that I purchased a large 23” frame Norco ten speed road bike from Tom’s Cycle in Toronto. I was 6’5” and for my height the larger Norco was a much quicker, but a much less comfortable ride. The frame was rigid and more responsive and with the narrower tires I felt every bump on the road. My new Norco enabled me to ride distances I had never ridden before. I quite often went on 50 km plus rides, but for me cycling became a very lonely endeavour. None of my friends were into bike riding and most did not even own a bike. For most of my longer rides I would usually venture off on a weekday when I had a day off.
On weekends I was usually busy and it would be hard to fit a long ride in. Although I always enjoyed riding my bicycle, I eventually lost interest and stopped riding altogether. However unlike my previous two bikes, I had kept my Norco well maintained and I never got rid of it. Instead I just kept it in my garage when I was married and then in my locker when I moved into a high rise condo after my divorce.
I knew in my heart that someday I would eventually ride my bike again.
I just never knew when.
