The bicycle was the most treasured item I owned. I didn’t own much; not even my own autonomy. I had saved all my wages from my job at the factory, after I had paid for my room and board to buy the bicycle. I had spent nights by light of the candle sewing my pantaloons. They were wickedly brazen these balloon leggings that would allow me to ride my bicycle. I refuse to be confined to the boarding house, factory and church. I intended to explore the countryside around my town going wherever I wanted.
I worked in the sewing factory from six thirty in the morning to six thirty in the evening and had Sunday’s off to attend Church and quietly contemplate a pious life as helpmate to some approved man. All through the week excitement bubbled inside. I shared little smiles with my friend Mary. We were not going to be quietly contemplative this Sunday.
Sunday dawned bright and clear. Mary and I got up earlier dressed in our bloomers quietly made our way down the back stairs. The kitchen was empty, we made up a thermos of tea and some sandwiches for our lunch and out to the shed to get our bicycles. I hadn’t had a lot of practice at riding and my bicycle wobbled alarmingly when put my feet onto the pedals. The handle bar twisted and the front wheel was going in the wrong direction.
“You can do it Claire, just straighten the wheel and look straight ahead” Mary called.
She was already at the gate. I gritted my teeth, straightened the wheel and pushed my feet down of the pedal, yes, I could do it. We biked down the lane out to the edge of town and into the countryside.
Bicycle another word meaning freedom.
