My Mother Rode a Bike

My Mother Rode a Bike

One of the constants growing up, as far back as I can recall, was my mother’s silver bicycle. It was a well-loved road bike from the 1970s, with black handlebar tape, tan leather toe cages, and a set of panniers. It still lives in my garage. It holds so many memories, I can’t part with it. That bike, and my mother’s dedication to getting around on two wheels in Sacramento before bike lanes were common, showed me the usefulness of the bike as a “…