Fifty years ago this summer, I graduated from college, and for my graduation present my parents gave me a 10-speed bicycle. I’m pretty sure this was my dad’s idea. My mom never learned to ride a bike — not sure why — so it would be out of character for her to suggest a bike as a graduation present. At the time, I thought it an odd choice too, but as modes of transportation go, a car for each of their six boys wasn’t in the budget. I don’t know what my five brothers received, but a bike turned out to be quite a good present.
In fact, I’m still riding it.
I didn’t appreciate how special this bike was at the time. My dad purchased the opaque red Schwinn Le Tour 10 speed from Barnard’s Cyclery on North Avenue (since 1911). Says so, right on the bike frame decal. A few years back, I brought the bike in for a tune-up. They didn’t seem overly impressed when I told them about its origin, but I’m sure they see plenty of fancier, more impressive bikes these days. One day, though, as I was riding on the Salt Creek Trail, a serious biker (judging by his outfit) sped by, glanced at my bike and came to a sudden stop. “Whoa,” he said. “Is that a Le Tour?”
In fact a 1974 Le Tour, the first year for that model. Schwinn didn’t make them. They imported the bikes from Panasonic in Japan. Schwinn wanted a lightweight racer to compete with other bike companies’ “road bikes.” It was marketed as “Schwinn Approved” — Japanese designed and engineered, American branded, with a French moniker. According to the Frugal Average Bicyclist website, the 1974 Le Tour cost $159.95. My dad got his money’s worth — at any rate I sure did.
At 30 pounds, the Le Tour isn’t lightweight by modern standards, but it’s sturdy and rides beautifully. In fact it glides, even a half-century later. It (and I) survived T-boning a car (the brakes didn’t work in the rain), and I was thrown from the bike one other time (a downed tree across the trail during a thunderstorm).
I’ve written about this bike before: how my son Dylan spent many hours in his first few years in the mid-’80s riding behind me in the attached bike seat. How I couldn’t bear to detach that seat for many years after he graduated to his own bike (Dylan was in high school by then). How my bike (and I) enjoyed a renaissance when I took it in 25 years ago for a restoration and finally had the seat removed. How I started to wonder if it would last 30, then 40, and now 50 years.
In all those years, I don’t think I’ve used more than three of the 10 gears, which is probably an apt metaphor for the way I’ve lived my life. How many gears have you used in the road race of your life? But in baseball, going three for 10 over a career will get you in the hall of fame. This bike earned its way into my hall of fame.
I’ve often wondered how many miles my trusty Le Tour has logged beneath me. Surely a global circumference. Around the world in 50 years. But I didn’t log any miles during its 48th and 49th years. So when the anniversary rolled around this June, I was determined to give it a workout. I brought it to my grandsons’ house for the duration of their summer vacation, and we’ve had a wonderful time biking, first around town, then along the Prairie Path. Eventually, I hung my bike and one of theirs on my ancient bike rack and wedged the other bike in the back seat of the car, and we headed to Morton Arboretum to ride the East and West loops. They weren’t accustomed to defying uphill gravity (neither was I), so there was plenty of grousing, but the downhills — ah, the downhills were a revelation.
We glided. We practically flew.
“We need to do more of this!” exclaimed Bryce. “That was so much fun!” agreed Tyler. This was the summer they became dedicated cyclists.
I thought about my dad, who turned 50 the year he gave me this bike. If he had lived, we would be celebrating his 100th birthday. Instead, I celebrated the bike’s half-centennial with his great-grandsons, whom he never saw. Before he died, I told him how much this bike meant to me. He would have loved watching us glide on this downside.
Their ride is just beginning.
Thanks again, Dad, for a remarkable gift.
One that keeps on graduating.