Banana Seat Bicycles

26 January 2017

Back in the 70's we had the coolest bikes . . .

I really need to start searching diligently for pictures from my childhood . . . there just aren't that many of them around.

Anyway, most kids my age . . . back then . . . had bicycles much like these:

If you didn't have a bicycle with a banana seat . . . those curved handlebars . . . man . . . you were just not cool enough! Your Auntie M and I got them for Christmas one year!

We used clothespins to attach playing cards to our bike frames . . . letting part of the card hit the spokes of the wheels . . . that way you made noise when you rode . . .

 

 

These things came along later . . . for the kids of your mom's generation . . . not quite as cool as putting a playing card in your spokes . . . but whatever!

We rode our bikes everywhere! We built ramps . . . so we could do radical jumps . . . if we could talk the younger kids into lying side by side . . . in front of our ramps, we could jump over them. Sure there was danger . . . but we were oblivious . . . and bulletproof! And the little kids screamed . . . making it all that much more exciting! Of course, occasionally one of them would sit up to see if a bike was coming and not get back down quickly enough with generally resulted in scrapes, bruises . . . blood even. Whichever kid was unfortunate enough to get hit would usually walk off crying . . . with screams of "You better not tell!" in a chorus of voices . . . including a big brother or sister who'd threaten life and limb . . . following him. Most times the kid would return . . . resigned to the fact that tattle-telling wasn't worth the wrath . . . reluctant to join the others in the street . . . poised as flat as possible . . . to watch the bikes fly overhead!

Of course, the bike riders hit the pavement too . . . bloodied knees and elbows became battle wounds! Anyone stupid enough to run home for first aid usually never came back to join the fun . . . we learned early never to admit to wounds because mom's would patch us up and forbid us to return to whatever activity earned us the injury.

Yaya . . . where are you going with this story anyway?

Oh yeah, there was a story!

So, we were in Spain, and my Grandmother Hahn came to visit us one year (both of my grandmothers came to see us . . . an ocean away . . . in another world). We kids were all outside . . . playing in the street . . . our bikes nearby . . . she walked out to check on us.
Now keep in mind . . . my grandmother was in her 70's at the time.

She walked over to where we were and shared that she rode a bike when she was younger. We scoffed a bit . . . NO WAY was my grandmother EVER a little girl . . . she was old! We said so too.

"You can't ride a bike Grandmother . . . you're too old!"

She took that as a challenge! My 70 year old grandmother got on one of our banana seat bikes . . . with the curved handlebars . . . and took off!!! We all chased her down the street . . . cheering and laughing! When she finally stopped and got off, she flashed us a smug smile . . . and headed back to the house. We were AMAZED!!!

My GRANDMOTHER . . . who was older than dirt . . . was 10 again . . . and she rode a bicycle!

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!” ~ Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967