Every time it snows I am compelled to take a photo and write about Uncle Melvin’s bicycle.
Uncle Melvin, who is actually my wife’s uncle, was born in Tacoma in 1925. In those days kids were born right in the family home. Uncle Melvin’s birth home was in the Norwegian section of what was known as Hilltop in Tacoma, Washington.
Later Melvin enjoyed his bike at the family farm in Spring Valley near old Highway 99 between the two F-towns, Fife and Federal Way.
If only old bikes could talk, what tales Uncle Melvin’s bike could tell. If I could get Uncle Melvin’s bike to speak to me, I could write many bike and kid stories from the 1930s and 1940s using Westside Story as a conduit for sharing fun kid stories. I know that bikes when combined with kids, pals, and family dogs, produce all kinds of stories involving youthful adventures.
I do not understand why bikes can’t speak. After all they have spoke wheels.
I met Uncle Melvin in 1962 at my girlfriend’s family Thanksgiving celebration. By 1964 when I was still dating Uncle Melvin’s niece, he had died at the very early age of 39. He died what now has become long, long ago. While our time together was brief, I fondly remember sharing a couple of wonderful Thanksgiving dinners with Uncle Melvin.
Now the bike sits outside as a part of our yard art. Miraculously the bike does not fall over, and the only thing holding it up is a wood stick which acts as a makeshift kickstand. The 1930s were harsh economically. Uncle Melvin was lucky to have a bike. It is easy to understand how he might not have been able to afford a luxury accessory such as a folding kickstand.
Day and night the bike stands upright with a life of its own. Some winters the bike collects a blanket of snow. During each spring, summer, and fall, beautiful flowers tumble from the wicker basket attached to the handlebars.
I have written and shared photos of Uncle Melvin’s bike on several occasions in past years. I hope my readers are not getting tired of this subject. If you are, I apologize. I am aware of the well-documented principle. “Sometimes, a little Joe Boyle can go a long way.”
Fear not, I promise to never write about Uncle Melvin’s bicycle ever again until the next time it snows or maybe when the summer flowers appear as if they are trying to escape the bike’s wicker basket.
Joe,
I loved how you worked in “spoke.” Nice job!
Don
Thanks Don. I was worried my word choice might only produce groans.
Joseph Boyle
Joe, are you familiar with Patrick McManus? If not, check out his short story called “The Two Wheeled ATV”. It’s the funniest bike story I’ve ever read. It might inspire you some more.
Ray,
Thanks for the tip. I checked with the Lakewood Homeless Shelter, formerly known as the Pierce County Library, formerly known as the Lakewood Library, formerly known as The Tenzler Library and could not find a short story titled “The Two Wheeled ATV” by Patrick McManus. Found all kinds of his books, but not the target short story.
I checked with Amazon. Same result.
Might we meet for coffee and I could borrow your copy? I promise to return it. After all, I could use some more inspiration.
Thanks for being a faithful reader and thanks for sharing your tip in your effort to make me better than I already am.
Joseph Boyle
Ray R.,
I found your suggested story. Thanks. Actually I did not find your suggested story. My wife found your suggestion and forwarded it to me,
For others looking try clicking or cutting and pasting LINK: forums.roadbikereview.com/lounge/story-one-my-favourite-authors;-you-37270.html
Joseph Boyle
Patrick McManus is a favorite humor writer of mine. His Never Sniff a Gift Fish; Real Ponies Don’t Go Oink; Rubber Legs and White Tail-Hairs; The Grasshopper Trap; and The Night the Bear Ate Goombaw are my favorite collections of short stories such as yours. The cited article may be part of one of those collections. Regrettably, I have passed all my copies on to others to enjoy.
KEN KARCH,
I found a copy of The Deer On A Bicycle. Fun read. Thanks.
Joseph Boyle
Cool, very cool. Always wondered about that bike.
Melvin H
As an old bicycle rider myself, I believe Uncle Melvin was a lucky man to have someone remember him in such a manner.