Love, on wheels
I was 12 and my dad just bought me one. It was not a BMX, the “in” bike at that time, but impressing others really did not matter in those days. The world was younger, life was simpler, and material pursuits were not a concern.
My cousins and I – we would roam our fiefdom in Imus, Cavite, nodding our heads to people we knew (like little ladies and lords). We stop at a sari-sari store to get our softdrinks in plastic bags. It had a straw peeking at the opening and was met by grateful, thirsty, puckering lips. Or we would buy our favorite bread boling (never figured out how it is spelled but they were ball-like small hard bread smothered with margarine and the name maybe is the colloquial equivalent of bowling and depicted, maybe, little bowling balls). It tastes of heaven.
We had the wind in our hair, steered free of jeepneys and trikes, we had speed, the sun, carefree laughter. We had no destination and no concept of time and we did not care. We went over bridges and humps, through cemeteries, rough roads. We stopped to repair our bikes some of the time, or walk a flat tire.
It was fun.