I was one of the kids that would bike to wherever they needed to go. I didn’t do it because my parents couldn’t drive me, but because I loved riding my bike. It might be because I love to pedal my heart out and feel the wind buffet against my body or it may be because of just how simple everything is on my bike. My family and friends hate my bike because they think it’s broken and I ride it anyways. When they say its broken they are referring to the wheel I bent when I got hit by a car while getting lunch, the chain that comes off from time to time, and the front breaks that no longer work for reasons that even I don’t know. But for some reason, whenever a part falls off my bike or I notice some sort of new damage to my bike it just increases my love for it. I think its because it reminds me of all the good times I’ve had on it. I remember one particular time when me and some friends were out partaking in some activities late at night that involved eggs and a friend’s cheating ex-girlfriend’s house. Long story short we assumed they were sleeping, we were wrong, they pulled into the driveway while we were admiring our work and me and my friend made a quick get away with my friend holding on to the back of my bike with him on a skateboard. The rest of our friends weren’t as lucky and let’s just say the father of the family had a way with words and knew the numbers of their parents.