Toddlers and trikes

The toddler in that black-and-white photograph above is me standing with one arm resting on the handlebar of my prized tricycle. At first glance, you may think that I don’t look very happy in the photo, maybe because of those uneven bangs created by a cereal bowl plopped on my head to save the cost of a beauty shop haircut. Or perhaps I’m annoyed about wearing an ill-fitting cardigan with three-quarter length sleeves when a sweatshirt would suffice. The picture is dated November 1963. I would have been 3-1/2 years old, but I’m thinking I was a few months younger since it often took my mother awhile to get rolls of Kodak film developed. She was always busy cooking, cleaning and taking care of my two teen-age sisters and me while my father was at work. Mom didn’t drive either. Roles back then were defined and unquestioned. Husbands were sole breadwinners, and dutiful wives stayed home and had dinner on the table by 5. Sometimes I think Mom wished she had a part-time job to escape for at least a few hours each day. Then Dad could have said, “Wait till your mother gets home!” Looking closer at the photo … Wait, is that a matching headband wrapped around my pouty little face? Jeez, Mom. No wonder those Glenfield brats on Detroit’s East Side teased me. And this was before I needed Coke-bottle glasses at age 5.

But back to my resting brat face.

More than likely, I wasn’t really upset. Simply anxious to continue riding around the neighborhood, as I’m sure I had people to see and places to be. By that, I mean flying down the driveway like a three-wheeled demon to the cracked sidewalk and back uphill through the open chain-link gate to the garage behind our house.

Wind in my bangs, sun on my cheeks, and built for speed.

I can tell you with certainty there’s one thing I was not unhappy about that day: my tricycle. No, sir. It was the bomb. And all mine. Even at 3, I had my priorities.

In 1968 when I turned 8 years old, my parents gave me a new, two-wheel bicycle with a white banana seat, high handlebars, chrome fenders and a white basket trimmed in plastic flowers.

That bike looked like a tricked-out chopper motorcycle for a future reality-TV episode of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.”

Can’t remember if that banana bike was a Huffy, Murray or Schwinn Stingray. Didn’t matter. As long as I could carry a friend on the saddle seat or pop wheelies, I was happy. A rebel in blue jeans.

Funny how humans don’t change all that much with age. Nor do our interests. Whether a vintage Radio Flyer tricycle or an electric trike, bike riding is a blast.

You can see where this is going: Rebecca and I bought electric trikes, in Dusk Blue and Phoenix Red, respectively.

It’s the Lectric XP Trike2 750W model with a 750-watt motor and a 48V, lithium-ion battery that has up to 70 miles of range. Front and rear disc brakes. Five levels of pedal assist plus a throttle. Top speed is 17 mph. And it’s quiet.

In case you haven’t heard, electric bikes and trikes are all the rage with seniors. For us, the reasons are health, safety and freedom.

And yes, we wear helmets even though we look like complete dorks. Hitting your head while on blood thinners is an even less attractive option at any age.

As Albert Einstein wrote to his son, Eduard, who struggled with depression: “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.”

And as we like to add, “Stay upright.”

Yesterday we took a ride, and before we knew it, we’d clocked nearly 4 miles on a warm yet windy afternoon. With these trikes, you still have to pedal, but the motor gives you a boost when needed.

It’s gentle on the joints, particularly if you have what my mother called “Arthur-itis.” And after three replaced knees (two partial, one full) and a new shoulder between the two of us, that’s definitely important.

I’ll be honest. Riding a bike with three wheels takes some getting used to. There’s a learning curve because you’re riding on a horizontal plane at a lower center of gravity. Turning takes practice, too. You have to pay attention. Potholes and curbs are not your friend.

And yet, within a short time it all comes back to you. Once again, you’re that fearless toddler riding a trike down the driveway.

You just might need a little pedal assist in turbo mode to get you back to the garage.

Wind in your salt and pepper hair, sun on your laugh-lined cheeks, and built for … need. Let’s ride!

(YouTube video: It may not surprise you that American folk singer Melanie Safka wrote the pop song “Brand New Key” in just 15 minutes. The quirky tune became an unexpected hit, reaching No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1971. Known simply by her first name, Melanie rose to fame after performing at Woodstock in 1969. The Queens, New York, native was just 22. Another familiar Melanie track from the 1970s that you may recall was “Look What They’ve Done to My Song Ma.” Melanie died on January 23, 2024. She was 76. “And so people say, I’ve done all right for a girl.” Oh, yeah, yeah.)