The Life and Times of Bruce Gerencser

Short Stories: Me and My Bike

Written by

Bruce Gerencser

in

,

I spent most of my youth living in the country. Unlike parents of today, my mom and dad rarely took me anywhere by car except to church. If I wanted to get somewhere, I either had to walk or ride my bike.

I never owned a new bike until I bought one as a sixteen-year-old — a ten-speed bike. Before that, I rode used bikes, often castaways that needed repairs. For whatever reason, my siblings fared better on the new bike front. I remember how envious I was when my younger brother got a brand-new Schwinn bike with a three-speed shifter, complete with a banana seat and sissy bar.

I rode my bike everywhere: school, work, ball practice, roller skating, fishing, to the park, to the swimming pool, and any place else I wanted to go. My parents rarely asked where I was headed, and I didn’t bother to tell them. On my bike I was free; free from my mom’s manic behavior and my dad’s indifference. By the time I was fourteen, I was on my own, just me and my bike. With a bike you can go anywhere, so I did.

I’ve often wondered if adults in the day felt sorry for that Gerencser boy who rides his bike everywhere, spring, summer, winter, and fall. I do remember being offered car rides by one of my coaches to away baseball games. I added little to the team, so I always appreciated the rides.

As a fourteen-year-old boy, I rode bikes with my friends all over town. One night, around 1:00 am, we rode our bikes downtown. The weather was hot and sticky, a typical summer night in northwest Ohio. We came upon a bar that had its door propped open. None of us had ever been to a bar, so we were curious. Boy, did we get more than we bargained for. Standing on table in the dimly lit bar was a scantily clad dancer, gyrating away for late night patrons. After a few minutes of gorging our eyes with wondrous sights, the bar owner ran us off.

Good times. . .

I have lots and lots of bike stories I could tell, but I want to hear yours. How instrumental was a bicycle to your upbringing? Please share your stories in the comment section.

Comments

8 responses to “Short Stories: Me and My Bike”

  1. przxqgl

    when i was growing up, we lived for a few years in williamsville, new york, a suburb of buffalo… and i rode my bike EVERYWHERE, all over town… i, too, was free when i was riding my bike, and my parents rarely, if ever, asked where i was going or when i would be back.

    there was one thing i definitely remember, which was, i was riding my bike down what was then a rural country road on the way from our house to the school, and i remember seeing a mailbox that had the word “ZAPPA” written in what is now a familiar, multi-coloured, cartoon-like font, and i remember amusedly wondering who the people who lived at that house were like…

    what i didn’t realise, is that, at the time, the moog synthesizer company was located in williamsville, and frank zappa was particularly enamoured of this new technology, and also lived in williamsville for a while.

    Reply
  2. Avatar
    JENNIFER C KUNKLE

    My first bike was a second-hand boys bike. Someone had painted it with flat red paint so it looked hideous. For some reason, it had one solid tire The other one was missing so my dad got a replacement for it somewhere. Despite the look, I was still glad to have it. Unfortunately I couldn’t really ride it downtown where all the “action” was because that would have involved riding or pushing it up a very long hill. I put “action” in quotes because there were only like 300 people in the town where I grew up, so there wasn’t really anything to do anyway.

    Fortunately we did have a little library that was in the bottom floor of a house. The upstairs was rented out as an apartment. It was only open for a two hours on Saturday afternoons, but mom would take me and we’d chat with the librarian for most of that time. I’d usually go home with a foot-tall stack of books and read every single one until we went back the next weekend. Sadly, the library was uncomfortably close to a creek, and when there was flooding a while back, the whole building floated out into the street and everything was destroyed. It was like hearing that an old friend had died. 😢

    Reply
  3. MJ Lisbeth

    I continue to ride my bike in, ahem, late middle age, because I feel free when I am riding it.

    Is it my imagination, but do evangelicals and fundamentalists (to be fair, not only in Christianity) frown upon adults riding bicycles?

    Reply
  4. Avatar
    … Zoe ~

    I was six. My first bike was called a “seven hander.” I took it literally. I think my parents just meant it had been used up seven times over. It was an adult sized bike that I learned to ride in my friend’s back yard, on grass. I had to learn to ride it without being able to sit on the seat. I can still see the scar the bike gave me when it booted me off of it. I’m not sure I remember the bike after that. My second bike was a brand new 10-speed. Biker Dude and I purchased two new bikes for our wedding gifts to one another. We loved those bikes. 🙂 All of my grandchildren have heard my story and seen my scar from my attempts to learn to ride a “seven hander” bike.

    Reply
    1. Avatar
      Bruce Gerencser

      “Seven hander,” is a new one for me , but one my six kids know quite well. 😢😢♥️♥️

      Reply
  5. Avatar
    Revival 💩💩💩 Fires

    Dad: VERGGIE!!!! WHY DID YOU WIPE SHIT ON YOUR MOTHERS BRAND NEW TEA TOWEL?!

    VERGGIE: (crying) I don’t know!

    Reply
    1. Avatar
      John S.

      Wow, Revival Liars. Was Pornhub getting too boring for you? Thats the only reason I can figure as to why you would take time out of your busy day to post something like this.
      Maybe you need to get a bicycle and go for a ride in the fresh air. Getting away from your computer might do you some good every once in a while.

      Reply
  6. MJ Lisbeth

    I don’t know that I would be alive if it weren’t for cycling—in my youth or in adulthood.
    When I was 13, my family moved from Brooklyn to Monmouth County, New Jersey. I spent many days pedaling along the shore, from Arlantic Highlands to Sandy Hook and down to Long Branch and Asbury Park. The rhythms of my feet ascending a d descending, like the waves, and the wind rippling my hair (no helmets in those days) seemed, sometimes, to be the only things that couldn’t be diverted to someone else’s wishes or desires. And the scrim of haze over the sea on cool spring mornings was the screen on which I could see myself most vividly.

    Reply

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