Bicycle brings fun, exercise through the decades

Ken , left, and John Palke show off their Christmas bicycles

in 1961, a gift from the parents. The 10-speed bike is a

French-made Peugeot.

Over the last few months I've been disposing of stuff cluttering the garage. But there's something hanging on the wall I'll never part with . . . a 51-year-old 10-speed bicycle.
The lightweight Peugeot (made in France) represents both the past and future to me. As a kid I pedaled it to school, work and sports activities in ever-widening concentric circles from our house. Later it became a strand cruiser at the beach, and as I got older, a tool for exercise. Someday I hope to restore the bike.

It was a Christmas present in 1961 from Mom and Dad -- a derailleur (de-rail-er) named for the device that changes gears by moving the chain through a series of five different-sized sprockets. The bicycles were new to the American market then, but are commonplace today.

My younger brother John got a three-speed bike at the same time. We were thrilled with our new-found mobility around the neighborhood.

The folks bought the Peugeot from John Kucharik's bike shop in a small supermarket mall near South High School, my alma mater. Kucharik was a lanky man of European descent and he approached selling bicycles with missionary zest. I loved the sights, smells and camaraderie in his shop. There were new bicycles on the floor and hanging from the ceiling, with riding clothing and accessories decorating the walls. For a time, I even met weekly with his youth bicycle club.

 John died a few years back, but his family remains in the business today . . . designing, manufacturing and selling the Kucharik line of bicycle clothing all over the world.

I recall subbing occasionally in the '60s for Steve (the kid across the street) Drumright's newspaper route. I'd throw the bag full of Daily Breeze papers over the handlebars and deliver to houses following his carefully prepared list. I tell you though, delivering those papers was much easier than collecting payment from the customers.

 

There was another part of the southern California bike culture I found fascinating. Surfers too young to drive a car would rig up two-wheeled trailer carts for hauling surfboards behind their bicycles. It was aggravating when those squeaky-wheeled surfers would ride by my house toward the beach on Saturday morning while Dad had me stationed outside pulling weeds. I wanted to go surfing too.

 

At about 13 or 14, I began taking longer bike rides. One time a friend and I pedaled from Torrance along the scenic Palos Verdes Peninsula coastline to Marineland of the Pacific, a popular Los Angeles County aquarium that operated from 1954-87. There was one problem though, we forgot to bring enough money for admission. The 30-mile round trip was uphill all the way there, but much easier on the downhill way home. What an adventure for a couple of intrepid youths.

Now 50-plus years later that bicycle still brings me enjoyment. The trick is to get the thing in top working order so it will do me some good . . . especially around the middle.