As Halfords celebrates ‘Bikes through the decades’, I recall my first bike.
This Christmas, Halfords have been winding back the clocks and showcasing some of the classic bikes of recent times, from the bicycles that became popular favourites to bright but almost-forgotten gems. The poster campaign, ‘Bikes through the decades’ certainly stirred up all kinds of nostalgic memories for me, particularly the poster for the 1970’s. Yes, believe it or not, the 1970’s is my favourite cycling decade. Not only did the ’70s give us one of the most iconic bikes of all time, the Raleigh Chopper, it was also the decade I was given my first bike.
Memorable Christmas gifts.
I may be a little too old for counting sleeps, but I can still remember some of my favourite Christmas presents growing up. There were some classics, including a Binatone games system, an action man (I was a tomboy), and a Commodore 64. However, like many children, getting a bike for Christmas was one of my favourite gifts.
My first bike.
I close my eyes, summoning up a memory from my childhood. It’s a memory I’ve tucked away for safe keeping, dusting it off to revisit from time to time over the years: My first bicycle. Although it was a much anticipated Christmas gift, my memories are of the summer.
It’s on our driveway, propped up against the reddy-brown brick of the home I grew up in. I absorb the scene. It’s summer, quite possibly the long, hot summer of 1976. There’s a light breeze and the sound of children playing up and down Auckland Way. In the summer, we were always outdoors. We’d play hide-and-seek, make rose petal perfume, have water fights using Fairy liquid bottles, or we’d be out on our bikes. The roads were so much quieter then, with our street games only needing to pause for the occasional Ford Cortina or Mini Clubman.
I can picture my first bike vividly, the gleaming chrome of the handlebars, the shiny bicycle bell, the bright blue frame. It was perfect. The perfect Christmas gift. I remember the tyres weren’t the sort with inner tubes, rather they were made of solid, ridged rubber. The pedals were fixed, so free-wheeling wasn’t an option: you just had to keep pedaling. Fixed pedals weren’t a problem when you were cycling along the pavements of our housing estate in Hartburn, Stockton-on-Tees. However, tackling the enticing, rippled slopes of the field behind our homes was another matter.
Childhood adventures.
I can see myself, poised on my bike at the top of the ‘bumpy’ hill. Then, as if watching an old movie, I can see ‘little Jane’ pedalling like a maniac, as the blue bike gathers speed on its descent.
Stopping was the hardest part, but the alternative was taking a dip in ‘Hartburn Beck’, the muddy stream that cut through the middle of our childhood stomping ground.
I always managed to stop in time, with only a few inches of grass between me and a mud bath. My chest heaving with exertion, my lungs burning, a huge grin splitting my face. A few feet to the left and I’d have crashed into the huge cast iron roller that inexplicably occupied that spot in a beck. In our imaginations, it doubled as a bridge, a space ship, an enormous elephant and a hippo over the years.
Beyond the beck, a steeper hill rose to meet the grassy path that skirted the fences at the bottom of our gardens. This hill wasn’t wrinkled or puckered. Instead, there was a smooth, steep slope where the grass had been worn by the constant traffic of childhood games. Nowadays, we’d call it a ‘multipurpose’ surface. Back then it was our ‘sledging’ hill, our ‘roly poly’ hill, our ‘run down without falling’over hill, our ‘somersault but watch out for the dog poo’ hill (this was the 1970’s after all). For the risk takers and downright reckless among us, it was our ‘cycling’ hill, too.
We spent most of our time playing on the grassy area beside the balding slopes of somersault hill during the summer months. It was pitted with craters and dips, creating the perfect stage for childhood adventures. As the temperatures soared, so too did the grass, until it tickled my 5-year-old thighs. The tall grass provided the perfect environment for our imagination to flourish. We spent hours during those school-free months flattening the grass, crawling from ‘room’ to ‘room’ via grassy corridors. If we weren’t making dens we were playing hide and seek, wading through the beck in our wellies, or making mudpies on its sloping banks.
All the while, our bikes, our favourite mode of transport to the field, lay close by until our parents called us in for tea with a shout over the garden fence.
As the sun set on another day of adventure, we’d carry on our chatter, as we walked our bikes home.
Letting go.
My first bike was a Christmas gift that had significance. Not just in my life, but in the life of my parents. You see, it wasn’t merely a practical gift, promising a means of getting from A to B. It was so much more than that. It was a rite of passage, a milestone. With my first bike came the first whiff of growing up, of independence…of letting go.
I close my eyes again and I’m sitting on my first bike in the middle of the road in front of my house. My knuckles blanched by the intensity of my grip on the handlebars, my eyebrows knit in concentration. My dad’s instructions float in the air around me. His strong hand on my saddle steadies me, just as the stabilizers did moments before they were removed.
Then we’re off. I start to pedal in earnest as dad continues to issue instructions. I look ahead, my heart thudding in my chest as I gather speed.
Then Dad lets go.
I know the instant it happens, the moment when dad’s hand is no longer there, anchoring me, steadying me.
My confidence, like the bike, wobbles momentarily.
But I continue pedaling.
All the while I can hear my dad’s voice encouraging me and telling me to ‘just keep going’. So I keep on pedaling, gathering confidence with every revolution of the solid little wheels.
Me and my first bike, going it alone.
My first bike.
A milestone.
A coming of age.
It’s the first time but not the last time I’ll be striking out on my own with my mum and dad waiting anxiously in the wings. Their urge to keep me close battling with the need to let me go.
Another street, Another decade.
Wind the clock forward to 2007 and I’m looking down on another street. There’s another little girl gripping the handlebars of her first bike, a beautiful pink Raleigh bike with whitewall tyres and a furry seat. There’s a steadying hand on her saddle too. I recognise the bike. I recognise the girl. I recognise the steadying hand…
It’s my daughter, Beth, reaching that same milestone…Her first wobbly journey towards growing up.
Only this time I realise how hard it is to let go.
Bikes at Halfords.
We’ve seen some iconic bikes in the last 50 years. If you fancy a trip down memory lane then check out the other Bikes through the Decades posters here:
Halfords ‘Bikes through the decades.’
Or why not have a look at the fantastic range of children’s bikes and deals on offer at Halfords this Christmas:
Over to you.
What were your favourite Christmas presents growing up? Can you remember your first bike or learning to ride? Can you remember your favourite bike or the bike you most wanted to have when you were growing up? As always I’d love to hear from you and don’t forget to check out the great kids bikes at Halfords.
This is a collaborative post. The words and opinions, as always, are my own.
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