BERKSON: For Want Of A Rack…
LETTER from TERRY BERKSON
For Want Of A Rack…
I had it all planned. We’d fly to Florida on a Saturday, settle into the motel and then head for the flea market where, if lucky, I’d find a used bike to ride for the rest of our vacation. “What are you going to do when it’s time to go home?” my wife, Alice, asked.
“I don’t care,” I said, “as long as I have use of a bike while we’re down here.”
“Well, I’m glad I brought my paints along – to keep busy while you’re riding around.”
“If you didn’t have a bad knee, you’d get a bike too.”
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The thing I miss most since we left Brooklyn and moved to a house on a hill outside of Richfield Springs is bike riding. On the farm it’s easy to leave but hard to pedal home.
Brooklyn was flat like Holland, where everybody rides a bike. Before we moved I’d use mine daily, often riding five miles to the seashore at Coney Island. To me, riding along a quiet side street without the assistance of a noisy internal combustion engine felt like flying. Many stories had been conceived along the way.
Unfortunately, the car we rented in Tampa was a Kia hatchback. I always ask for a smaller car and most of the time they’re out of them and we get bumped up to a larger vehicle for no extra cost.
This time they did have a compact, so besides a bike I’d be needing a bike rack.
