by Mark G. Sullivan

Created on: April 27, 2010

The sun wasn't far from the horizon when our bikes were picked up from where we left them the night before. Seats wet from the early morning dew would soak through our pants as we rode to the park. Baseball gloves slid onto the handle bars swayed in the breeze. Some brought bats; others brought balls, while all of us brought the energy to play the game. This was small town baseball at its best.

Our bats, the “wooden monsters” as we called them were brought home after the local city team finished playing their games. Broken by a fastball, these sticks were given to us youngsters to use another day. Even though we were young, we learned quickly that tightly wrapped tape would not hold the bat together. Thus, screws were twisted into the wood. Maybe, just maybe they would stay together before breaking completely through.

Peddling towards the field had its usual sounds. Brian's bike made the flapping sound from the clothes pinned card being held into the spokes. Danny's chain constantly rubbed against the guard announcing our arrival wherever we went. Depending upon the need for speed, this would either sound like a slow grind of metal on metal to the high-pitched rip of links flying passed the rusty shield.

My bike made that familiar scraping sound until one day this safeguard was thrown amongst the many bike parts in our garage. Need a new pedal, handle bar or maybe a seat? The graveyard of parts held them all, just some in better shape than others.

My brother John was constantly changing the look of his ride. During the early 1960’s having high-rise handlebars and a banana seat was the rage, so his was the first to have this cool look.

The long seat allowed the rider to sit far back over the rear wheel. Now it became easy to pull up on the handlebars to do a wheelie. Maybe it was the popularity of the famous daredevil Evil Knievel, who seemed to have his motorcycle on one wheel more often than two.

There was also an advantage of having these long handle grips and that was now he had the ability to carry more than one glove. At times, he would look like a traveling ball team for all the guys asked him to carry theirs. Not everyone’s glove was given the honor, but if you had the hot bat he liked to use, than slide it right on.

So many mornings, Danny, Butch, Lenny, Larry, Ron, Brian, Tarzan, Bob and Dick would join John and me at the small grass diamond behind the main city field. We wanted to play where the big boys held their games. Yet

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>