Bicycles & Thieves
I remember teaching myself to ride in Grenada when I was about five or six. A whole gang of us had gone to visit some shore kids over at Secret Harbour, near Prickly Bay. These land based kids, offspring of the white uppercrust, had all the toys. We used to go over and play with them now and again, eager to try out their gadgets and gizmos.
On this occasion, finding myself out of whatever game was on at the time, I picked up a bicycle from the heap of toys scattered about the lawn. It had training wheels so off I went, soon getting the hang of the steering and brakes without having to worry about balance. I was thrilled to bits. It wasn't simply being able to ride the thing that excited me, it was the mobility. You see, as my playground was as large as I could cover, I would wander far and wide, barefoot and usually shirtless, covering many miles from one haunt to another. As long as I was home at dinner time, I didn't often get into trouble. I dreamt of being able to cycle all over the island, visiting friends and finding new secret places.
But as far as toys and playthings were concerned we didn't get much in our family. At Christmas and birthdays presents were generally small tokens, certainly not bicycles. However we did pretty well really as families were often packing up, selling their boats and flying home to their former lives. We were frequently given boxes of toys and books. Us kids had a great barter system going. We traded and swapped with kids on other boats to get new toys and gadgets. I had a knack with electrical and mechanical things and used to fix things for people in exchange for other bits and bobs. I often bartered for broken gadgets I felt I could fix or use to fix something else. Frequently I scrubbed decks, cleaned oily bilges and generally slaved away, in exchange for a broken something or other. I raided the marina dustbins on a regular basis.
It was a few years, however, before I managed to barter for my first bicycle, but I got there in the end, in St. Lucia in about 1975. In a round about way.
We had moved to St. Lucia and I was in school there. Many of the gang of kids around the marina were shore kids and most seemed to have bicycles. Those of us without bikes had to bribe, beg or threaten until given a ride. Or run along behind the others. Some of my friends were kids of a trio of local brothers who ran a fishing charter business in the corner of the cove. One day while scrounging around their place I noticed an old bike in bits, slung in the shed. Eagerly, I pulled it out and examined it. It needed a seat - it was one of those bikes with a long banana seat, but it was broken and mangled. One of the tires was shot and the frame was cracked.
I found which boy it belonged to and found that he had given up on it, having got a new one for his birthday or something. I bartered with the dad and managed to strike a deal. Twenty EC dollars and a pair of binoculars and the bike was mine.
So I sold my prized model boat to an older boy for twenty dollars. I had been given the model in Bequia and loved it, but I had to have that bike. Another friend's dad had given me a pair of broken binoculars. I fixed them. So the bike didn't really cost me anything more than a bit of wheeling, dealing and other peoples generosity. And I had a bike!
I got someone to buy me a new tire in Martinique but for a while I was seatless, just the seatpost sticking up. But I was mobile and could keep up with the gang. One day there was a crew welding fence posts around the perimeter of the airport; I showed them the break in the frame and they welded it up for me for nothing. They welded the banana seat as well and as the rear support was missing I fashioned another out of old broom sticks. That didn't work too well; the back of my seat waggled from side to side as I peddled along. After a while I found another seat and though it was not a banana seat, it was fine.
It was generally accepted that anything that wasn't nailed down would probably get stolen but it was only on getting the bike that I really appreciated that. I kept it under lock and key in the hallway of the marina storage lockers and when I left it out during the day, I had a little lock and chain. Several times it was stolen but my brother happened to catch the culprit in the act. The was no law to protect things really, you just had to be careful. In general, the local kids had no conscience about pinching things like bikes. Getting a flat tire inflated at a small local repair shop, I let the lad have a go on the bike, as my thanks for the air. He simply took off and wasn't planning to come back. Luckily I quickly realised this, guessed where he would go, and managed to head him off and grab the bike back. He simply laughed. Worth a try, he reckoned.
My brother was not so lucky. When one of the older boys outgrew his bike Graham bought the old one, which was very similar to mine. That night he left it padlocked on board a boat we were looking after. It was pinched the same day he bought it. Poor old Graham. Eventually he bought another one, a French Peugeot with lots of gears. Almost immediately he dropped a rag in the gears, smashing part of the mechanism. Spares for almost anything were non-existent in those days, so he simply shortened the chain and fixed it in one gear. Not long after that, the second bike was pinched too. Graham didn't freak out like I would have done. He took it in his stride, bottled it up inside and gave up on the bicycle idea.
****************************
Page Hits Since November 20th 1997