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There are things which I never knew I regretted until, err, I realized I do.

Talking to my Mom, she revealed that one of her true joys in life is riding the humble bicycle.

My mother has a smile. Not a thousand watt smiles of a supermodel obviously, nor a smile that kind older ladies give when they greet their you; because she ain't all that old. No, this special smile she saves for when she's talking about her kids, her wonderful co-workers in the past, and especially food that she absolutely adores. It is often seen of course, but still, heart-warming nonetheless.

So it is with this smile that my Mom tells me of her biking days of yesteryears - how her friend and her rode along the shoreline by some Australia beach. Her eyes light up, the corners of her mouth pulls wider and wider, revealing teeth. A throaty yet motherly chortle bursts forth, accompanied by laugh lines that blossom out of the side of her eyes.

And then I remember that when I was a kid, my Mom bought me a BMX bike from Crappy Tires. It was black with red lettering that spelled "Wildcat". A stupid Crappy Tire logo prominently displayed on the gooseneck that protrudes from the frame connecting the handlebars. Coaster brakes, not the squeezeable types that all the fashionable kids had.

I didn't hate the bike as much as I was just embarassed to be seen with it. Like I said, all the cool kids had better named bikes, looked better, stopped faster, pedalled smoother. Everything mine didn't do.

There I was, about the only Asian kid in my school, with a crappy bike from Crappy Tires. Even the wheels looked cheaper than everyone elses.

And lordy, it was rusted. Yeah, we didn't have a garage way back when, and I left it outside for a whole winter. By the time it was said and done, there was rust everywhere, and the chain was never lubed.

In that time span, my mother also bought a ten speed "Supercycle", blue, also from Crappy Tires. Now, in my day, that was totally square. I mean, riding a ten speed bike was about as cool as walking, except at least you had friends when you walked.

My point is, as I got older, reaching high school age, the Supercycle was about the only bike I could ride with any comfort. By then I had started growing a tad bit faster, and the blue Supercycle from Crappy Tires was basically mine. It wasn't as nerdy mind you, until people saw the red inverted triangle that was invariably associated with C.T. - meaning you couldn't afford anything better, because we couldn't, quite frankly.

What I never grasped was that my Mommy loved that bike. I remember the very few times we rode together. I can see the joy on her face as she pedalled through our small street, the wind in her hair, the glasses, a little too thick, several years out of style mind - and yet, there she was, as happy as a little girl with the coveted tea set and friends invited to show it off.

I betrayed that. I took that Supercycle after she moved back to HK, and I abused it. I mean I utterly destroyed the bike. There was about thirty percent of front brakes left, zero in the back - there wasn't even brake pads in the back, truth be told. And I would get flats a lot, because I did a lot of jumps with it. Skinny "racing" tires weren't made for curb jumping.

Worse, I got hit by a car at an intersection. It was a red light for me, and I swore that the car with the right of way coming from my nine was signalling to turn right. So I went through the red. It was late at night, I was tired, I didn't care about my safety, and I didn't think anything would actually happen.

Next thing I know I was falling on the floor, my head hitting the right mirror, my shoulder sliding down the side of the car. I vividly recall putting my left hand down towards the upcoming asphalt to prevent my body from causing any more injuries to the ground.

Honestly, about the only thing that was wrecked was my front tire. It was so warped that it would rub against the front forks, and yet I still rode it like that for the rest of the summer. An hour each way from where I was staying to work. Kennedy/Hwy 7 to Lawrence and Victoria Park.

I don't even know when I gave up on the bike. I just remember locking it up somewhere and walking away. I thought at the time I would go back to retrieve it, but I never did. I'm sure it's gone by now, the management at the plaza removing that eye sore long ago.

I sometimes still think of that bike, oddly. My Mommy never knew of this story, and of her faithful steed's demise. Maybe she'll know now.

Which comes to regret. Apparently as a younger child, her Mother, my granny, would not buy her a bicycle because she didn't want her only son, my Mommy's younger brother, to ride one, deeming it too dangerous.

So I'm sure that when my Mom bought that blue Supercycle, she had secretly fulfilled one of her lifelong dreams of owning a bicycle. To equate that, it was like my first motorcycle. Although now when I see a picture of its doppelganger I still laugh, I remember my first ride on it, how great it felt, and just how grown up I was.

Well now that I'm beyond grown up (looks wise of course, my brain is still striving to catch up), I look at my wonderful Mother and realize just how the simpliest things can bring the greatest pleasure.

A bicycle to you and I, but for her, bliss on two spindly rubber wheels.

....Get well soon Dragonboy, hope the leg gets good soon. posted by losir at 10:56 PM