“My” first bike was a glorious banana-seated Schwinn stingray. I had a learner bike before that one, but that one was handed down from a brother, it wasn’t mine. Not that my Stingray was new, we were too careful with our money for that, but it was new to the family, and it came into the family to be mine, not someone else’s.
Can’t for the life of me remember the color of the bike for sure, but orange sure seems right.
The seat though, that stands crystal clear in my memory. Long and white, padded with “tuck and roll” stitch lines cross-wise every 3-4 inches. Supported in the front on the seat post, in the back by a chromed loop of tubing that came up from the rear axel bolt, arched over and plunged down to the axel bolt on the other side.
Built before the “stick-shift” jobs; it was a multiple speed bike, just as many speeds as I would willingly pedal.
That bike represented more than just style and cool. It represented freedom.
The world opened up to larger than I could walk in the time I had; there were more fields to explore, more potholes to dodge, and more places to go, more puddles and leaves, and sand and mud to ride through.
As I aged, that bike became too weak for my needs. I got a paper route and needed to be able to cover a full third of our town every morning, and my brothers and I started riding the 10 miles out to the lake to swim and the 10 miles back in time to do our chores before our parents came home from work. I needed more carrying capacity, and more speed.
I bought my first truly new bike with the profits of my first few months paper route work. A beautiful, shimmering, metallic brown Schwinn Varsity Tourister with a lifetime guarantee on the frame (a decision that Schwinn must have come to rue, but that is for a future story or two).
And so, that wonderful Stingray fell into disuse and sat forlorn in a corner of the garage.
Some years later our family had a garage sale. I decided it was time for my Stingray to regain its freedom and mastery of the streets, and so out of the garage it came.
The tires were flat.
The seat was dusty
The wheels had spider webs.
But I was selling it, so I didn’t care. My dad told me that I should clean it up and fill the tires, but I thought I was just getting rid of the bike, so why bother.
During that morning several people looked at my Stingray and asked about the price, none of them bought it. Around lunchtime, I went and got the pump and filled the tires. And I rolled it around back and hosed it off.
The next man that stopped at the garage sale bought that Stingray, and for more money than I had been asking for it before I cleaned it up.
I came away with a new understanding. One that has served me well all of my life.
Most people can’t see the potential in things.
Most people only see the first impression.
I have profited greatly from that understanding, both in understanding how to sell (myself, my ideas, and my things) and how to buy.
Selling that bike was a great experience….but boy, what wouldn’t I give to have it back today as a piece of my personal history.
Copyright © 2011 - Marty Vandermolen - All Rights Reserved
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