The day I rode my sister’s bicycle

Dear Sir, — It was a nice summer’s day and I was out with my older sister and her friends.
I kept on pestering my sister; could I take a ride on your lady’s bicycle.
Sister: “You cannot ride a bicycle!”, me: “Someone has to start sometime!”
I rode off and then couldn’t stop so I picked the highest curb. I stopped.
My sister was furious; the bicycle was alright, it had no bent front wheel and the street lamp was still in one piece. She should have said to brake, the important bit one should know when riding a full-size bicycle with semi-dropped handlebars at 11 years old.
It was when I was 13 years old that I rode my sister’s bicycle again, safely. I took the long way around the roads and streets, she was blowing a gasket.
When I arrived at her friend’s house, that’s the gratitude my sister gave me, when I was doing her a favour in saving her a long walk home. — Yours faithfully,

BRYAN SMYTH