The Five Speed

My favorite Christmas present of all time was a five-speed bike I got when I was seven. It was orange and was fashioned to look like a drag racer --- complete with a racing slick rear tire and a gear shift on the top of the frame that looked a floor shifter on a car. I'm sure I racked myself on this bike many times, but that's been wiped from my memory. But I learned lots of other cruel lessons on this bike, namely how shitty my fellow human beings can be. I used to ride the five speed up to a convenience store to gorge myself on cherry slurpees. One summer afternoon while exiting the convenience store --- no doubt with cherry slurpee all over my lips and t-shirt --- a couple of adolescents approached me and my bike. "Hey kid. Cool bike. How does this gearshift work?" Then they proceded to jerk the gear shift back and forth. My fear was that this abuse would "strip the gears". According to the expert bike mechanics that frequented the bike rack of Prairie Creek Elementary School, this was the worst damage that could befall a bicycle. So I stood outside the convenience store, stunned. How was I going to get home? My gears were stripped. I waited until the jackels finished up their game of Space Invaders and left the store. Then I approached the clerk with tears in my eyes and told him about my predicament. He came out, kindly tested my bike and told me there was nothing wrong with it. I peddled home. But for the first time, I learned what it was like to feel violated.