Where Have You Been?

By Tank Crawford

A fun, imaginative, and memory provoking story that chronicles the amazing “life” of an old bicycle seen through the eyes and memories of the bike. It follows the life of his first owner from childhood to adulthood until the bike is abandoned and left to the ravages of time and the elements. An easy read, the story takes you along an exciting path of discovery and childhood experiences. A collection of stories detailing friends, racing, school, pesky girls, the awkward middle school years, finding first love and going to college. How this kind metal and rubber lifetime best friend is left to languish and rot only be re-discovered at the very last minute before ending up on the curb. Perhaps you may discover a way to enrich your own young life or while you follow along, find some of your fondest memories of growing up for you to enjoy again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781532092015

Tank Crawford

Tank Crawford is an avid bicyclist that loves taking long rides and restoring selected old bikes. He also loves the outdoors, animals, camping, kayaking, hiking, fishing, hunting, writing poetry and creating art. He’s a devoted family man, retired U.S. Army Veteran, and longtime volunteer for the Cleveland Metroparks.

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Copyright © 2020 Tank Crawford.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Illustrations by Cheryl Plunkett Mikula. Cheryl is an artist and art teacher for the Strongsville public schools and has been a life long friend of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-9195-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-9201-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020900435

iUniverse rev. date:  01/14/2020

Contents

Introduction

Prologue

Introduction

T HIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY. None of the accounts reflect any living or real persons. Locations are fictitious.

It’s longer than a short story. It contains about 34,500 words.

It centers on the existence/life of an old bicycle, seen through the eyes of the bicycle itself.

It also follows some of the experiences of its young owner’s life as he grows from the eight-year-old-boy who received the bike for Christmas to the young man who finishes college and moves on.

All throughout his childhood, the boy and his friends enjoy the experiences and childhood activities that include riding their bikes.

These stories include the boy’s first romance in high school.

After the college years, the bike is put into the garage for storage (more like abandoned) to languish for years, rusting and being neglected. And the bike feels it will end up on the curb as trash.

Then a teenage boy and his friend find him when asked to clean up the garage as a service project for an elderly woman. She tells the boys to take what they want as long as it goes to a good home. The boy ends up giving the bike to his father, who has been looking for a bike just like this one for years.

Finally, the story goes into how this middle-aged man restores the bike and gives it a brand-new outlook on the future and how this old bike makes this man feel young again.

It is basically a story more about the life and times of the boy and bicycle seen through the bike’s perspective and narrated by the bike itself.

Prologue

Where Have You Been?

F OR WHAT SEEMS LIKE AN eternity, I have existed only in this dusty, drafty, creaky, old garage. Languishing in this one spot, I haven’t budged in ages. I am leaning far to one side and am piled up with a lot of my longtime garage companions. I have become rusty, layered with dust, and tarnished in the damp garage air and have fallen into a sad state of disrepair. I wear a thick coat of dust and cobwebs accumulated from years of idle neglect. Certain parts of me no longer work, and I am afraid I will eventually end up at the curb on trash day like so many other things in this garage that have gone on before me. My owner has grown up and moved away, and his mother is elderly and alone now. She seems to have no desire or energy to ever use me again or at least have me fixed up. She lacks the ability to repair me, and I fear she no longer recalls many of the amazing memories I have of this family and my time here.

I cannot help but think that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be! I’m supposed to be used and cleaned and waxed to a high gloss. I’m supposed to shine better than anything around me. I’m supposed to be part of someone who is just learning what life is about, and I’m to be used to explore places never before seen by that person.

I had once been used to seeing his friends and being bragged about. I remember hearing them saying they wished they were lucky enough have me. We would go from one side of town to the other, and I would listen to tales from his childhood as he grew into adulthood and how I was an important part of his life. I should have been passed down to his children, so I could be part of their childhood, too, and part of their new discoveries.

Instead, I am rusting away, paint chipping, not functioning as I was designed to be. I am sad and fearful of what my future might be. It is dreadful to even ponder what the future may hold for me. How did I get to this place and in this condition? Oh, but what amazing times I have had. My history is full of excitement, daring, and wonder, and I have been to places that many people and my own kind will never see. I have had an awesome existence until these past twenty-five or thirty sad years.

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ONE

A Nice White Bow

M Y STORY STARTS A LONG, long, long time ago—over half a century! I can’t believe it. Let me tell you all of it from the beginning, or at least as much as I can recall—how I was a special part of somebody’s life. From the beginning, let me tell you where I have been .

It was late on Christmas Eve 1961. Snow was falling, it was bitterly cold, and the wind was howling around the outside of the garage. With an earsplitting creak, a large door swung open. I could feel the biting cold air, and snow swirled into the garage and onto the garage floor. There was a single dim glow of light from an oil lantern. The old tarp I had been covered with was pulled off of me, and I was grasped by a large burly man wearing a blue-and-green flannel shirt and some sort of blue jean overalls. I could hear him groan and grumble as he picked me up and carried me over one of his shoulders. We went down the length of the long, snow-covered driveway and then up the slippery front porch steps. He quickly hustled me through the door, which was being held open by a woman, and into a house where a fire was blazing in the fireplace. She quickly closed the door behind the big man.

The house was so much warmer than the garage where I had been hidden under that old canvas tarp for more than a week. The woman was wearing a thick red robe and fuzzy slippers, and she was hurriedly wrapping gift boxes and tying bows. Candles were lit everywhere, and their flames gave the room a very warm and inviting glow. The air was filled with the aroma of cinnamon, pumpkin, and chocolate, and there was a distinct scent of pine as well. Joyful music was quietly playing, and a mountain of ribbons, bows, tape, and wrapping paper of every design and color covered the living room floor and dining room table. I was placed out of the way and quickly dried off with a kitchen towel, as I got wet from the falling snow during the long trek from the garage to the front door of the house.

How did I get here? What is going on? I couldn’t help but imagine what would happen to me and what would become of me in the future. What kind of existence am I going to have? Who are these people and what kind of people are they? How I ended up in the snowy shores of Lake Erie I will never know. I was scared and nervous. It was a long way from where I was from.

Suddenly, a large, excited, yellow-haired dog was beside me. It circled and sniffed me, its tail wagging wildly, and it began to lick me, as I was still a little wet in some spots. It was disgusting and gross! What is going on? I couldn’t help but wonder. With a fur-muffled thump, the dog lay down in front of me, curled up, and fell into a deep slumber. I didn’t realize that dogs dreamed, barked, and apparently ran in their sleep.

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I gazed down, and from certain parts of my frame, I saw a reflection that twinkled and had many different colors of lights. I gazed across into the corner of the room, and there was one of the most beautiful things imaginable. Now I knew where the pine-tree scent was coming from. Standing there was a large green pine tree covered with hundreds of brightly lit and twinkling lights, ornaments, strings of popcorn, tinsel, and decorations all around it. Underneath its boughs was a little train, slowly chugging its way around the track. It had a bright-white headlight and was puffing white smoke from the smokestack. Gift-wrapped boxes were stacked three high and four across and wrapped with some of the paper I noticed when