Chapter 11
Rules of the Road
“Mom, can I ask Susie to come over for the night?”
“Go ahead.”
“Her mom said she came here last, but they invited me over there.”
“How are you getting there?”
“Walking.”
“I’d feel better if you take your bike.”
“Awe! I can’t get a ride home if I have my bike.”
“Ride it home tomorrow.
If it rains, I’ll get you and put the bike in the back back of the car.”
The back back was a third row of seats that was turned around backwards so kids could ride looking out the back window. It was sometimes known as the barf seats.
“Thanks! I’ll tell her I’m on my way.”
Mom caught me before I got out the door.
I was raised in a good, upper-middle-class neighborhood in Huntsville, Alabama.
It was a fairly new neighborhood filled with rocket scientists, NASA Space Museum managers and assistants, and their families.
Their kids grew up together and became real friends.
Inside the neighborhood, we were safe.
Leaving it required rules.
These rules were not written overnight.
Each rule came after I had done something incredibly dangerous or stupid.
“What are the rules?”
“Stay off the six-lane roads except to cross them.
Cross at the corners.
Ride at the side of the streets and obey all traffic laws.
If you are around cars, watch the tires; they move first and you can brake, or get out of the way.
Stay away from anyone walking, don’t get close enough for them to grab you even if you have to ride into and through yards to do that.
If someone follows you, knock on the door of the house you are at.
Trusting a stranger is better than trusting someone chasing you.
If someone is driving toward you in the other lane and U-turns around, go to one of the houses nearby and knock on the door.
If it was just a U-turn and they go away, don’t knock on the door, it’s safe to move on.”
“That’s good. Use the cut through at the college, don’t go down Holmes Ave.”
“They are playing soccer there now!”
“Maybe not, if they are, walk your bike around the edge and stay out of the way. Understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Mama.”
“Don’t forget to call me when you get there.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll make me.”
My bike was my freedom. I rode it through my college days at the University of Alabama in Huntsville. I used my mom’s rules more than once. If she knew how often, I probably would have had my bike taken from me. She was right about every rule.