Dana and Chase used to beg to hear this story over and over every time they stayed all night with me when they were very young.

      I never had a bike as a young child.  They were very expensive and I knew better than to ask for one.  We lived in Temple City on the corner of Reno and Las Tunas Drive.  Again, Mom had her beauty shop in the front rooms of our house and we lived in the remaining rooms.  Dad had his sign shop in the garage and I spent many happy hours under the huge pepper tree in the back yard. 

      Next door lived a nice lady who had a small house but with a big old barn in the back.  I was always intrigued by that barn.  No one had barns in Temple City.  I wondered what was inside.  Being a shy and obedient child, I never ventured over to look. 

      My very best friend, Joan Knutson, was not like me.  She would try anything.  We had lived next door to each other when we were babies and our mothers kept in touch.  Now that we lived far apart, when Joan would come to play she would stay several days.  I loved it when she would visit.  She always thought of great adventurous things to do.  She gave me the courage to try something new. 

      One time she was visiting and she noticed our neighbor’s barn and asked what it was for.  I told her we shouldn’t go onto someone else’s property (although there wasn’t any fence to keep us out.)  But Joan said we’d just peek through the open window. 

      We crept over making sure no one saw us.  There were cobwebs everywhere.  When we looked through the open window, we could see something across the barn that looked like a bike.  I knew our neighbor didn’t have any children so Joan pushed the door open a crack and went in.  I followed with fear in my heart. 

      A shaft of light shone on an old rusty frame of a bike.  The tires were flat and it was dirty but it was a bike.  A bike I wanted!  We left the barn and worked out a plan. 

      Later we told Mom about finding an old bike gathering dust in the barn.  Could she ask our neighbor if I could have it?  Mom didn’t like the idea of our snooping around but finally agreed to ask. 

      A few days later, Daddy went over to the barn and brought home the old rusty bike.  The chrome handle bars were corroded, the rubber tires rotted and nothing worked on it.  But Daddy was good with paint and he worked on that bike, sanding and painting it a beautiful bright red.  He painted the chrome a shiny silver and bought some new tires and other parts. 

      I remember the day he gave it to me all fixed like new!  It looked beautiful, it even had a bell that I could ring and a basket.  I was thrilled!  At last I had my own bike.  But wait, there was one major problem.  I had no idea how to ride a bike! 

      Joan assured me that she and her brother would teach me.  We went over to a schoolyard one Saturday and she and Rod pushed from behind while I pedaled.  I was horrified that they might let go and I’d crash but they said they would hold the bike.  Of course they didn’t but by then I was pedaling on my own. 

      I don’t know why that old bike was so important to me.  Maybe it was because we found it.  There was something magical about the bike regaining a new life.  I always felt there was a mutual happiness between the bike and myself.  We needed each other.