From my archives —

My oldest son loved riding his mountain bike during high school. Probably put hundreds of miles on that bike on trips with friends. Took it on to college and kept riding it in Tuscaloosa, rode it around campus at the University. Guess he got the bike riding gene from me. Chief never rode a bike. Love this bike story. Gets better as the years go by.

Thomas called me and Chief from his dorm during his junior year and said someone had stolen his bike. He was livid! Youngest brother and I had our matching blue Schwinn bikes stolen off the front porch when we were children. I knew how that felt. The bike was very expensive. He had saved his money from being a lifeguard to purchase the bike, added special brakes and other accouterments. We couldn’t afford to replace it so he filed a police report and Alfa said it was covered on our insurance.

Life really is better than fiction. Can’t make this stuff up. He’s riding around in his truck with his friend Brian and he sees this chubby man riding down the road on his bike. He knew it was his bike soon as he saw it. He calls the police and says he found the man who stole his bike and he and a friend were following the thief home. Police tell him not to confront the man but wait for them.

Thomas hatches a quick plan with his friend. He meant he was getting his bike back! As he tells it, “I wheeled up in the driveway, dust cloud flying. And the whole time my friend Brian was yelling, ‘Are you crazy, What are you doing?’” He walks up to the man, tells him it’s his bike, and he’s taking it back. He points to his friend telling the man his friend is on the phone with the police. His friend holds up the cell phone.

Course the man says, “Paid $20 for this bike. Bought it from a hobo down the street. You can’t prove it’s yours!” Fortified with anger Thomas says, “Check the serial number.” He proceeds to rattle off the number from memory so there’s no doubt now. Actually Thomas just turned the bike over to check the number, reading the serial number and the dumb crook believed him.

The chubby crook, who rode the bike, poked Thomas in the chest and said, “Hey man, I ain’t in this.” Second man said, “Look I just got out of jail and I’m not going back so we don’t need to call the police.” Thomas says, “Okay, I’m taking my bike back with me!”

So Thomas snatches the bike, chunks it in his truck, and they peel a wheel back to the dorm. Pumped from facing bike criminals he says, “I did throw up some gravel in their driveway backing out, balding the tires on the road when I pulled away.”

His friend was traumatized by Thomas being so bold and says, “Man you are crazy! Can’t believe you did that! Holy crap!” His mother can’t believe it either! His father really couldn’t believe it.

He called the police when they returned to the dorm. They were not amused. Police scolded Thomas, said that was dangerous. The bike thief had messed up some things on the bike so the insurance money paid for the repairs. Don’t know if anything happened to the thief. Thomas and Brian were on a robbery gone wrong high all weekend. I know this adventure lives on being retold many times by Brian and Thomas. Course the tale I’m hearing today was a lot bolder than the mild college tale he told me and Chief.

Fast forward the years…Thomas calls and we talk about his children getting bikes for Christmas. He had just picked up his old mountain bike from a bike shop where he had it reworked. He was excited and was looking forward to riding bikes with the children. We had a good laugh remembering the story about the bike being stolen. Wish I could ride bikes with them I say. Then I proceed to tell him about the conversation I had with Stew the night before.

“Stew,” I say, “I’m going to save up and buy me a bike. I’ll just ride it around the neighborhood, be good exercise.” Stew replies, “Mama, you can’t even walk. Your knee is messed up. You fell up the two steps to the front porch twice. You don’t have good balance. You’ll have a wreck and I won’t be there to help you. I won’t know where you are.…” Quit listening by then but he kept going.

Thank God I didn’t tell him that my best friend had tried this recently and had a wreck, plastered herself on the ground. Whacked her head. But she had her dog on a leash while she was riding. I was thinking of a bike basket for Penelope. So then I ask Thomas what he thinks about me buying a bicycle. Thought he’d be excited for me but he takes the high road and says, “I don’t know, Mama.”

“Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride.” — John F. Kennedy