I had a bike called Betsy when I was about six. Grandpa gave it to me about two years before he died. He never managed to teach me, so I taught myself; my knees and elbows were a mess for a while. Once I learnt though, I used to ride all the time, and when no one was looking I even used to ride with my eyes closed, pretending I was flying. I was just returning from a ride when I found my mother in the tub. After that, I never touched a bike again.
For Friday Fictioneers. Hi all! I found it a bit hard to feel inspired this week, I must admit. But no matter, I came up with something in the end.
Thanks for reading.