Pink bikes always make me smile. When I see a child riding one they take me back to my childhood and the first bikes Sister and I ever had. We were speed demons on those bikes, fearless and brave, and so very, very fast. Even though you can’t see it in the picture, the bike was pink and white and owned my heart.
I see a pink bike and I think of being out of breath and laughing and having a fantastic time. I know I sometimes idealise my childhood but more often than not it was as epic as I remember and my memories of my bike definitely fall into this category.
I don’t remember the day Sister and I got our bikes but I do remember the day we learnt to ride them. Parental units took us to our local park where there was this perfect oval gravel track with a greenhouse running along the middle (I need to visit this place again just to see if that is still there).
Taking turns we got on the bike with Dad pushing us from behind. It didn’t take long before the both of us were zooming along (longer for Sister and I like to remind her of this fact now and again) with the wind in our hair and freedom in our hearts (poetic and saccharine but also true).
Those pink bikes lasted us a really long time. The stabiliser wheels went, the seat kept being pulled higher and higher, until we really were too old and too big for them. We didn’t keep the bikes: a family friend had two daughters and we passed them on. While I hope they had as much fun as we did on them I also wish we hadn’t given them away.