"Cool!” Marjorie ran one hand over the Schwinn’s stingray handlebars and banana seat.
“Wanna try it?” Libby swung her leg over the crossbar. Marjorie
perched behind her, arms hugging Libby’s waist.
The bike wobbled until it picked up speed, both girls whooping
with glee. The whooping rose in intensity as they started down the hill on
Patrick Street, then veered into a screech as Libby swerved to avoid a pothole.
The bike careened wildly. Its front tire clipped the sidewalk and the girls were
sent flying into Mrs. Gamble’s hedge.
Giggling, they extricated themselves, yew-bits garlanding
their hair. High five!
That really made me smile. Oh, those old banana seat bikes!
ReplyDeleteOMG—I never had a banana bike, but I had an accident on one! Those handlebars! It was my friend's bike, and *she* broke her teeth after flipping over the handlebars—had to get them capped! (Are you sure this isn't horror?)
ReplyDeleteHa! My science fiction was more a schlock romance, so I suppose this could be another genre-crossing piece.
ReplyDelete