I did not give her a name, but she was definitely a tom-bike. A beautiful shiny red Schwinn Krate with a gear shift in the middle of the sissy bar with a big black “5” on it. Yes, I know, a sissy bar in the middle made it a “boy’s bike”, but I never liked the idea of calling bikes by genders.

From Kindergarten through fifth grade (’70-’75) we lived on Sunset Drive in Ventura. To get there you had to go up Catalina Street, past Foster, past Terrace, then finally to Sunset. It was probably the steepest street in Ventura, similar to California Street in Santa Barbara. It was a little less steep between Foster and Poli, and I remember seeing the long-haired hippy guys, barefoot, zigzagging down on skateboards.

Our school’s bus stop was at Foster and Catalina, so I had to hustle my six year old butt down, down, down, Catalina to get there on time every day. One time I heard the rumble of the bus and hid behind a bush, terrified that if any of the big third graders saw me running to catch the bus I would never hear the end of it, but that is another story.

Bus service stopped after third grade, and by then I had received the 5-speed. I was so excited about being able to tear down Catalina, right on Foster then down to Washington School on MacMillan Ave. But as I entered fourth grade, my brother entered first grade, so  I had to give him a ride to school. No problem, he could hold my tin lunchbox so I could have a better grasp on the handle bars. They were the kind that came way up and out, allowing one to sit straight up. The brakes were located where the hands rested, so without one hand clutching my lunchbox I could go even faster!

Those were the days. No helmets, my six year old brother holding on for dear life with a lunch box in either hand, me bombing the hills all the way to school. It is a wonder we made it safely every time.

I loved that bike, but unfortunately my mom sold it after we moved to Santa Barbara a couple of years later. It was ironic, because she had told us a story about how pissed off she was after her dad sold her favorite bike, Roland. Mom has always come up with creative names for inanimate objects (her car was Carla, her palm tree Rustle, etc.), but those are other stories.

January, 1974. I guess mom wanted to get a quick photo of our Holiday sweaters.