At Velora, we believe that every scratch on a steel frame tells a story, and the best rides aren't measured by speed, but by the memories they bring back.
Today, we are honored to share a story from Mike Eaton. Mike is not just a veteran cyclist; he is a high school English teacher with a graduate degree in Creative Writing. But more than his titles, Mike is a man who understands the soul of cycling. He once told us that treating an old bike is like adopting a rescue dog—you show it some love, and it pays you back with loyalty and miles of joy.
Mike shared this piece with us to spread a simple yet profound spirit: Cycling isn't about escaping life; it's about returning to who we once were.
The Sad Truth About Kids and Bikes By Mike Eaton
The sad truth is, kids these days seldom ride bikes. The vast majority of cyclists I encounter on the local trails are middle-aged or older, out to relive their childhood—if only for an hour or two—to catch a break from lives that move way too fast and are full of responsibilities, deadlines, and pressure. Sightings of children are so rare that when I do see a Mom and Dad out for a ride with their kids, I make it a point to smile and say, “Always great to see kids riding bikes, well done!”
Had bike trails existed when I was a kid, no doubt the inverse would be true. From sunup until the streetlights came on, every kid in a 50-mile radius would be buzzing down a bike trail. Seeing adults or older people would be the rarity.
Bike path or not, my nerdy blue Columbia quickly assured me she was more than an impulse buy. She was independence; she was adventure; she was a social catalyst. Not a day passed that I didn’t ride. It wasn’t long before my friends and I had explored every square inch of our neighborhood and a whole bunch of any other neighborhood within a couple of hours' ride. We’d race, build ramps, and pretend we were Evel Knievel jumping buses at Wembley Stadium. On longer rides, we’d pretend we were cowboys and Indians riding horses across the uncharted frontier. If we were feeling more adventurous, we were Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, and Jack Nicholson in the movie Easy Rider. Great memories! So great, in fact, I’m fine with re-living them several times a week. But I digress.
After my first four or five rides, I named my bike “Nelly”. Not sure why, but I suspect Yosemite Sam saying “Whoa, Nelly” was involved somehow. This started a custom that persists to this day: All my bikes have names.
Several years and a million miles later, I had outgrown Nelly. Not that I had lost interest in riding bikes; I was simply physically too big to ride a 20” bike. I said my final farewell to Nelly by lubing everything, checking tire pressure, and washing and waxing her. She was then donated to Goodwill. Hopefully, she went on to make another otherwise normal kid into a full-blown, life-long bike freak.