The Mustang

Do you remember your first bike? Not the trike, and not the little one with training wheels, either; the first real bike that allowed exploring your world possible? That thing of beauty that you may or may not have nicknamed Rocker, or Speed, or some such. That vehicle of freedom! I did not name mine. It's not that I was lacking in imagination, far from it, I was spilling over with it; it's that I was, and still am, a pragmatic soul. It was a thing, regardless how stirring mounting it was. Mine was a green CCM Mustang.

Not me, but that's the very image of my CCM Mustang

Banana seat. High back bar. Chopper handle bars. It had streamers trailing from the handlebar grips when I got it. It was the epitome of cool in its time, much like the BMX that replaced it would be the go-to bike that everybody owned afterwards.

I hit a parked car on my first solo ride with it. Years later I ended up in the hospital from a concussion while riding it (but that's another story that will follow in due course), but in between I hit the roads and trails behind Pinecrest School, behind and below where TDH, the Timmins District Hospital, now stands, if it didn't then. There were streams and what we thought of as lakes back there, not to mention hastily erected forts and cut trails, later expropriated and widened by the Mattagami Region Conservation Society, and still in use today (I still walk that trail today). We scampered over Scout and the much further Cherry Rock. They were tall and had precariously perched boulders atop them that made narrow caves that we imagined bears slept in. We waded in those streams, caught minnows, or tried to anyways, chased frogs, searched for snakes, and a little later, stole our first kisses on those trails. Pecks then, certainly, nothing like those that would soon follow. First steps.

Learning to Ride

I think we all learn to ride a bike in the same way: trike first, then when we graduate to two wheels, we do so with training wheels for a while. When the training wheels come off, someone helps you maintain balance by hanging on to the back of the seat, until they let you go and before you know it you’ve been riding unassisted, if somewhat wobbly, all on your own. Simple. So long as you maintain balance. And steer.

I learned as you did. The day came that the wheels came off. My father was guiding my ride, running alongside, his hand on the seat. He let go, and off I went. The bike was still a little tall for me, even with the seat lowered as far as it would go. I was sure that I would never get my feet off the pedals and onto the ground before I would fall if I applied brakes. I usually didn’t use the brakes, though. I usually just put my feet on the ground and skid to a halt. I didn’t think about stopping then, though. I was so proud. I was riding my bike. By myself! Like a big kid! I was a little scared, too. A whole lot scared. I was sure I would topple over. I didn’t. But I wasn’t too confident yet, so I didn’t go too far. I only rode halfway up the street, did a shaky turn and headed for home. Unfortunately, the ride home was on a shallow downhill slope. I gathered speed. Too much speed, to my mind. Too fast to apply my brakes. And the seat was too high to do anything but put the tip of my toe on the ground. So I wasn’t going to stop that way, either. I panicked. I locked up. And crashed into a parked car, the only one on the street.