SCHC 384: Writing and Editing for Life

Freedom Wheels

The bus bounced up and down the road until I felt that familiar turn. Turning on to Woodlyn Drive, I anxiously stared ahead as my house appeared on the left. I wondered if I had time before my ballet class. But who cares if I’m late to ballet? This is so much more important. As the bus came to a stop, I jolted out of that cheap plastic seat, quickly said thank you to my bus driver, and flew down the stairs, across the road, and up the driveway. I beat my siblings to the garage and tried punching in the code. No luck. Damn this old thing! I didn’t hear the old garage start to creak open until my third or fourth try. 

I step inside the dusty garage and there it is in all its glory: my bike. The body was painted in a sleek purple, the seat was cushioned with a light blue pouch under it to hold my loose change. 

I hopped on it and peddled out of the driveway, not even bothering to change out of my uniform plaid skirt and white polo. I sped off Woodlyn and headed towards a much more enthralling route. The old wooden sign welcomed me, the name of the road carved into it: Juniper Road, a familiar but exciting place nonetheless. I always thought the sign said “Jupiter Road”; I imagined the road to be a secret portal that transported me to a different world. Juniper Road had trees lining the entirety of it, blocking the sky and sun from shining down. Unlike Woodlyn’s cracked gray concrete, Juniper Road was paved a smooth black, and wildflowers sporadically sprouted on the sides of the street. But most importantly- in the middle of Juniper there was a big hill that passed through a small creek with a forest on either side. My hair whipped back from my face as my wheels rapidly increased speed, and a small holler of joy escaped my mouth as I released the handlebars and stretched my arms to the side as if I were a bird. I would slowly peddle back up the other side of the hill, only to turn around and fly down the other side once I reached the top.

Juniper Road, although my favorite, was just one place my bike brought me. My bike was my first feeling of freedom, bringing me to magical places in my small town such as the popular ice cream shop Culver’s, various parks, and the movie theater. I biked everywhere. Nothing compared to the maturity I felt, no longer having to rely on other people to transport me places. On ambitious days, my sisters and I would bike to our middle school, which was a little farther than our regular trips. I thought I was the coolest kid around, constantly reminding my friends that I biked to school, while their parents had to take them. I biked to the local coffee shop to do homework, my grandparent’s house for a swim, and my cousin Natalie’s house, where we took our bikes to small ponds for picnics. When the popular retail store Marshall’s opened in my town, I immediately biked there to explore this little shopping paradise. Too much of my money went towards candles and random trinkets I found in those aisles, weighing my small canvas backpack down that I had designated as my “bike backpack”. 

During the summer, both of my parents worked and most of my siblings had jobs or sports camps, so I was often home with only my youngest sister, Lilly. We would sleep in, complete the list of chores left for us, and then hop on our bikes. Lilly was my favorite biking partner, except for when she couldn’t keep up or would release a tree branch right into my face. We biked to see Avengers: Infinity War in the middle of the day just because we could (plus I had a slight obsession with Captain America). We went on lunch dates to Noodles & Company, paying for our buttered noodles with our cash allowance. Lilly and I spent whole summers together, laughing and traveling around purely by bikes. 

As I grew up, biking became less and less of a priority to me. One of the last times I remember riding my bike is when I was upset one night and decided to take my old bike for a short trip down Juniper Road. The hill felt smaller, but it was still the safe haven that it was for me at ten years old. After I passed my driver’s test and was handed the keys to a green, 2003 Subaru Outback, my bike was forgotten. 

I only ride indoor cycling bikes now, but I doubt I will ever forget the adrenaline of riding without training wheels for the first time, learning how to switch the gears, or feeling the increase of my speed as I approached the dip of a hill. My purple bike will always be waiting for me, waiting for my next taste of freedom.