I’m from Iowa. For most that’s fuel for an insult or two. Fine. But for me, it’s a badge I wear proudly. Being raised on a farm has all kinds of perks – like the ability to hold band practice in the barn at top volume. Man, Ozzy covers never sounded so good.

What the farm wasn’t good for was riding a bike. We lived on a busy two-lane highway and that meant any riding with friends required convincing one of the parents to haul me (and my Mongoose) into the Northbrook subdivision. There I could act like an actual city kid and interact with other humans – at least ones with different last names than my own.

By the time I was 15 though, I’d let the Mongoose sit ignored for some time. The hassle of begging rides had worn me down. But, Dad, ever the horse trader, had plans. With great ceremony on my birthday that year, he pulled back the living room curtains to reveal MY NEW BIKE!! He’d taken it upon himself to trade in my yellow Mongoose (with blue anno bars and rims thank you very much) for something new… something weird… something god-awful.

There on the patio sat a slate gray Schwinn Sierra. Dad told me it was a new thing – a “mountain bike.” I just thought it was creepy ugly. The wheels looked too small and the weird flat handlebars screamed “geek bike.” I whispered as much to my mom. She glared at me.

Then I rode it. Holy crap, raging up hills was a totally new vibe. “This thing is kind of stout,” I thought. Pretty soon I’d be building ramps and getting sweet air with it – sweet air over piles of cow shit. “We got it so you could ride into town on the gravel shoulder of the highway,” said my dad.

Freedom, man!

That Schwinn helped me escape what I had considered to be a lonely and sequestered life on the farm. It gave me true solo transportation and liberty when a kid needs it most. (Though, truth be told, I would have dug a moped just as much then) Still, that ugly-ass Sierra was my third bike (after the Mongoose and its predecessor, the red Sting-Ray) and it meant I could go anywhere and do anything - as long as I was back by 11.

Now bikes have become something I do for a living. That’s pretty rad. And the best part is that sensation of freedom hasn’t faded away. It’s still there. I just come home later now.

Eric Sovern
esovern@surlybikes.com

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