Why I don't own a bike

The following story is well known by my family members.  It is one that is retold time and time again.  I can't decide if it is a favorite rerun because it's really the only thing they have on me, or if it's because it might possibly be the most brainless thing anyone in our family has ever done.

It started with a wish.  A Christmas wish out of the JCPenny Catalog.  It was a turquoise coat, with peach flannel lining, and a matching turquoise and peach striped scarf.  It was colorful, it was cute, it was functional.  I had to have it.  Much like I had to have the large (and when I say large, I mean puffy and stiff and LARGE) faux fur coat a few years previous.  My hands did not fall normally by my sides in that coat.  They hung slightly at an angle.  I didn't care.  It was fuuuurrr.  One snow storm, and a blackout later (I got hit in the head with the baseball at recess, because I couldn't swing the bat in that dang coat), it resembled matted dog hair.  I was in desperate need of a new coat.  Well, Christmas morning came and I got my wish.  I was thrilled.  Such the fashionista I was in my coat with the scarf.  

It really was a warm coat.  And those were necessary in my upbringing.  We had to ride our bikes, rain or snow, to all our lessons and playdates.  I don't remember being put out by it, simply because it was either that or just not go.  I do remember it was hard in the winter because for some reason, even though I had a warm coat, I never remember wearing gloves and my hands would freeze into handle bar position.  It would take them several minutes to unthaw and retain their normal shape.  

Piano day came.  Again.  It always seemed like it was every other day.  Man, it would just sneak up on you at the most inopportune times.  You would just settle in with a graham cracker and frosting and Mom would yell, "Girls, time for piano".  I vaguely remember having to pump my sisters a few times because our bikes were in and out of the shop.  Dad was always pretty good about getting them back up and running again.  Even us girls learned how to at least put the chain back on.  I always secretly hoped Mom would forget piano day and I, of course, would pretend to forget as well, and we could enjoy the afternoon being forgetful...and munching on graham crackers.  She never did forget, and this day was no exception.  It was just me today.  My sister's would be coming later.  I threw on my coat, "Come on girl", I said to her, "we have some piano to get to," and headed out the door.  The ride there went pretty much without a hitch.  Thank goodness because it was fa-reezing!!!  The ride home was a different story.

Piano lessons were about 5 blocks away from home.  I was pedaling along thinking about how to hold my piano bag full of books in a way that would keep them away from the tires, when all of a sudden I felt myself being pulled of the bike, and pedaling became very difficult.  I looked down and my beautiful new scarf was being munched up by my bike chain.  My first thought was, "Mom is going to kill me for getting bike grease on my new coat".  I tried and tried to tug the scarf free from the chain, but this scarf had tassels on the end and those threads had been completely eaten up by the bike.  I wasn't even making a dent.  I was stuck to this bike. Determined to just solve the problem, I figured I would just have to suck it up and do what I could.  I wrapped my arms around the bike and picked her up.  I walked as fast as I could for about 10 steps, until my arms were on fire, and then had to stop and rest.  After a few seconds, I picked up the bike again and continued this pattern until I got to our backyard, absolutely exhausted!!  I could not walk one more inch.  I began to cry, and yell for help.  When some siblings appeared, I sent them for adult help.  Mom came out and after I related to her the hell I had just been through with the "bike necklace", she simply said, "Honey, why didn't you just take the scarf off?"  I blinked in silence, just looking up at her.  So I did. I took it off, and wandered into the house humiliated, as she finished cutting out the threads from my bike chain.  

I could never really look at that coat the same way again.  The tassles at the end were just nubs. They reminded me of  a child's self given hair cut.  Very haphazard and spikey.  The whole coat was a constant reminder of the whole ordeal.  I would like to think that if I were ever stranded with a bike again, common sense would prevail, but I'm not taking the chance.