Reminiscing on a Warm Summer's Eve
June 26th, 2017
I wince as I have to push the pedals on my bike back a little. At fifteen, I should be able to ride a bike as easily as I can write my name, but I can’t. I have to get the right amount of leverage to get that initial push, that beginning roll of the wheels. Otherwise, I lose my balance and hope I can catch myself before the pavement does. My legs are too short for my bike, and my toes can barely touch the ground when I’ve mounted my silver steed. Well, silver is a bit of a stretch. My bike, or, more accurately, my mother’s bike, is a decade-old, dull-magenta mountain bike. It doesn’t have a kickstand, but it does have a massive turquoise basket strapped to the handle bars. My dad and I picked it out together at our local Target.