Just as told, it was a traditional 1930’s 3- speed everyday bike. Dad stripped it and soaked the gears/brakes in paraffin ( I think), spent hours getting it working, then added drop handlebars, painted the frame orange, mudguards white and even added decals (a Viking long ship ) to make it look as shop bought as possible. The size of it was mind blowing compared to me and I took a fair few tumbles but there was no way I was going to give in and crush Dad. After a week I had mastered it ! though I had so many scabs the locals thought the Black Death had returned. I however couldn’t keep up with the lads with their uber lightweight 10 speed dedicated racing bikes and suffered many a piss take which I countered of course. In equestrian terms it was the difference between riding an Arabian and a Shire.
But I loved that Bike and was in awe of my father and even now thankful for both and the life lessons learned.
An orange and white bicycle
Dad found an old rusty bike at the tip
he didn’t have money to spare
so one winter’s eve he began to strip
each part, cleaning with care.
Sanding and painting with such skill
pals said it must’ve cost dear,
orange and white I can picture it still
a bike for Christmas that year !