Pride

‘You see that bicycle there?’

The man points to a black two-wheel, wheels-same-size, chain-driven-rear-wheel, pneumatic-tire bike leaning against the wall. It isn’t new but has been recently repaired and refurbished.

‘That there bicycle costs twelve dollars. You wanna buy it, kid?’

Sture walks over to the bicycle and looks carefully at the machine. He fingers the chain, pushes on the rubber of the tires, takes hold of the handlebars and shakes to check the rigidity of the frame.

The man has gotten the attention of his fellow workers. It’s late summer and they’re mostly in sleeveless undershirts, stained with sweat and grease. He nods his head and winks at the other workers.

‘But, kid, if you got the cash, I think we could let you have that there bicycle for only eleven dollars and fifty cents!’

The man is convinced the boy only wants to hang around as so many boys do.

Sture is examining that bicycle as if it’s a cow or a sick calf. With his fingers he’s running all over it, checking the bolted and welded joints, sighting down the length of it for any torque or warp.

‘May I try riding this bicycle?’

‘You know how to ride one, young fella?’

‘No, but I need it for riding to school.’

Now all the workers are watching. This is going to be fun, something to break the monotony of their hard days.

‘Look, kid. If you can ride that bike outta here and down the street without falling off, I’ll sell it to you for only ten dollars.’

He looks back over his shoulder at the other workers. They’ve all stopped working. They stand with their hands on their hips or holding tools. One straddles the bicycle on which he’s working, lifts the cap from his bald head.

Sture rolls the bike by hand outside the shop. The men follow him out to watch. Sture has studied the machine carefully enough to know that in order to get it going and moving, he must start it rolling as fast as possible, as soon as possible, or it will tilt over. He also sees it has no brakes. No bicycles at that time had effective brakes. The only way to stop was to jump off or run your hand against the wheel. The trick was to somehow avoid the rapidly turning pedals. There were no free-turning wheels, no hand brakes, no coaster brakes.

Sture checks to see if his legs are long enough to reach the ground when he’s straddled the center support bar. They aren’t. The only way he can stop the bicycle will be to vault off, holding on to the handlebars and pulling the bicycle up on its back wheel. Sture has ridden many a cow in from the field and performed essentially the same kind of jump, so he’s not afraid.

He works the pedal into position and pushes off. After a few yards of wobbling he’s on his way down the street. His strong legs, incredible agility and astounding sense of balance make it easy for him. He might have been the youngest person in Oshkosh to ride a bicycle. Bicycles at that time were for adults, definitely not toys for young boys.

Sture has some difficulty turning at the end of the street but learns to tilt his body in the direction of the turn and masters it. He starts pumping hard up the slight hill back to the shop. All the shop men are out in the street watching him. They’re ready to catch him when he tries to stop. But Sture does his quick leap off one side of the bike, holding the handlebars tight so the bike rears up like a horse when its bridle is pulled back hard.

There’s a moment’s silence, then the shop men break out in applause. The head of the shop comes over and tousles Sture’s head.

‘You’re really a wise guy there, ain’t you, buddy. I was fooled sure enough and thought you didn’t know from nothin’ about a bicycle, but you must work in some circus or somethin’. I never seed nobody get off a fast bike that way; I was sure you was gonna break your fool neck.’

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