There were two brand new one-speed bikes waiting for Josh and me when we arrived in Yakima. The tags said, “Love, The Easter Bunny” in Grandma’s handwriting.
My bike was purple and blue, and slightly bigger than Josh’s.
“Yours is a girls’ bike, Krisa,” Grandma said.
“What does that mean?”
“I always had a girls’ bike and so did your mom. You can wear a dress without any trouble because it doesn’t have the bar here like Josh’s does.”
“Oh I thought you were going to say it’s a girls’ bike because it’s purple,” I said, laughing.
“Can we ride them now?” Josh asked, running his hands along his new blue bike, playing with the pedals, already pushing them back with his hands to see how the brakes worked.
“Well let’s get settled and get you kids a snack first,” Grandma said.
I knew the Easter Bunny wasn’t real, and I also knew that he didn’t usually give kids presents like bikes.
“Got any Sam Supremes?” Josh asked. Sam Supremes were our favorite sandwiches. No matter how many times we asked, Grandpa would never tell us the secret recipe.
“We always do,” Grandpa said, laughing.
“Thank you, Grandpa!” I said, as I hugged him. “Thank you, Grandma!”
We’re so lucky, I thought.
“I sure am glad the Easter Bunny brought these bikes instead of Santa,” Grandpa said.
“Why Grandpa?” Josh asked.
“It’s better to get new bikes in spring than in December,” he said.
“Why Grandpa?” I asked.
“Because then I can teach you how to ride them.”
Josh and I both started laughing.
“I knew you and Grandma would get us bikes!” I said.
“We didn’t get you any bikes,” Grandma said. “It was the Easter Bunny.”
“Oh right. The Easter Bunny,” I said. I couldn’t stop smiling.
“The Easter Bunny brought the bikes, but we got you the most important thing,” Grandma said. “Helmets.”
“For safety,” Grandpa added. “You need to wear these helmets at all times while you’re riding.”
Josh and I started our lessons in front of their house that day, me wearing my shiny new purple helmet, Josh in his blue one. Grandpa made us promise to keep the training wheels attached until he said we were ready to ride without them.
We stayed outside until it was almost dark, thrilled to be allowed to pedal down tiny hills as the day wore on. By the time we packed the bikes into the back of the Subaru, Josh and I were racing short stretches, and arguing over who was better at braking the fastest.
“If I saw a car coming around the corner, I could break so fast that I could stop, grab my bike, and jump onto the grass before it even got near me,” I bragged.
“Well if I saw a dog coming towards me, I could speed up, and then stop right in front of him without even touching a single one of his hairs,” Josh said, as if it were a competition to ride up as close to a neighborhood dog as possible.
“If I see a dog, I’ll be racing away at full speed,” I said. “What if it has rabies?”
“Dogs around here don’t have rabies, you weirdo.”
After we’d said our good-byes at the end of the week and buckled ourselves into the back seat, Grandpa leaned in through my window.
“You all buckled up for safety?”
“Yes, Grandpa,” Josh and I groaned. Grandpa always asked if we were “buckled up for safety.”
“Well, now that winter’s over, it’ll be an easy drive over the pass.”
“Thankfully no snow!” I said.
“No snow,” he said, and laughed. “So I’ll be coming over to Vashon on the weekends until you’ve mastered your bikes.”
The drive to our house took more than three hours, plus a ferry ride, but Grandpa just smiled and acted like it was nothing.
“Now remember to wear those helmets and I’ll see you in a week,” he said, slapping his hand on the roof of the car as a final farewell. “Drive safe, Tammy.”
For the next month, Grandpa traveled all the way over the mountain pass to Vashon every weekend. Sometimes he drove both ways in one day, a total of six or seven hours of driving. The weekend we took off our training wheels, he stayed at a Red Lion Inn on the mainland so that he could work with us on both Saturday and Sunday.
Every time he came to the island, Grandpa would take me and Josh to lunch at the Dairy Queen. I’d get a bacon double cheeseburger or a chicken strip basket. He let us pick out desserts too. My favorite was the Peanut Buster Parfait, a giant sundae filled with vanilla soft serve, hot fudge, and nuts. I’d always remind him that we should bring Kaydi back some ice cream, but I was happy she wasn’t invited. She was always getting into something or throwing a tantrum. I got tired of watching her and hearing everyone go on and on about how cute and perfect she was all the time. She got enough attention without stealing all of Grandpa’s too.
Grandpa was a professor of dentistry at Yakima Community College, so he had to get back home for work on Mondays. He must have been exhausted that month. But no matter how tired he was, Grandpa always smiled and never yelled. He was patient with us, even when Josh demanded that he take off the training wheels before we were ready. Even when I yelled at him when he got a running start and let go of my training wheel-free bike. I fell over and skinned my knees the first time I turned around and saw he wasn’t holding on. After that I got the hang of it, just like he promised I would.
By the time the month was up, Josh and I were racing up and down the street without training wheels, and using our brakes like champions. We knew all about bike safety, and I didn’t dare listen to my Walkman while riding, even once our lessons with Grandpa had ended. It was important to listen for cars at all times, for safety.
Those were the best days.