My first bike was red. Red tires, red handlebars, red seat. We lived on a dead end street in the suburbs, and once I learned to ride that thing I was out on the pavement wheeling around from sunup to the last glimmers of daylight. As I got older I learned how to repair a flat tire, and eventually how to replace those red tires once I’d worn them bald (due to excessive bodacious skids). Then I got curious and started taking the whole thing apart. I loved that it was machine I could understand and master even as a kid.
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