bicycle chronicles

It’s no wonder I love riding a bicycle. As a toddler I spent hours in a plastic carrier mounted over a parent’s back wheel. Do they even make those any more? Most kids now are towed around in the covered two-wheeled trailers. Though much less safe, I have to think it was better to be inches from my father’s back, to see him and hear him as he pedaled me through the evening.

This is a picture of my first real bicycle, a pink banana-seat Schwinn. It seems funny to me now, I don’t remember learning to ride without training wheels. Was it on this bike? Or was this the reward for gaining balance and confidence? No Lippoldt can say for sure. Soon after the picture, tassels and a bell were added. I had to flutter and ring as I rode.

Chad also had a banana-seat Schwinn, navy blue and silver. We spent hours riding those bikes up and down the street. Hours more following our parents around the neighborhood on summer evenings. And we “fixed” them constantly, turning them over in the driveway or back patio to play bike mechanic. We were fascinated with watching the pedals move the chain move the wheels.

In fourth grade I made a monumental decision. I was allowed (perhaps for the first time) to withdraw money from my precious savings account so I could partially fund the purchase of a 10-speed Schwinn. Red this time. Gears and hand brakes were a revolution.

Weeks later we moved to a new house, new block, new kids. I was too shy to start a conversation but kept riding my bike around the cul-de-sac. Freed from pedal brakes I loved to spin my feet around backwards. It was a sight that stunned the other kids on my street and had them asking me questions. Thanks, bike, for making the introductions.

I took the red Schwinn to college instead of a car. It sat chained up outside McElvaney Hall on the sidewalk right in front of the new Mercedes Benz’ some of my classmates drove. I rode it in Highland Park when I needed freedom from campus. I was never brave enough to risk riding in Dallas traffic for errands.

By the end of my junior year I had motorized transport and the Schwinn had returned to the parents' garage. That summer I worked in Denver and upgraded to a Specialized HardRock Mountain Bike, silver, because it was on sale. Gears on the handle bars now, I changed to any of 24 with the turn of a dial. Unfortunately I didn’t know any real mountain bikers in Denver (how is that possible?) so I stuck to bike paths and streets.

After graduation the Specialized went with me to Minnesota, the city of a million bike paths. I can still picture every mile of the rails-to-trails path that followed the Mississippi River just 6 blocks from my house. It was on that trail that we learned I was built for slow-steady endurance and Rush for quick, intense sprints. To the end of the trail and home, a perfect hour ride.

My first year of seminary in Atlanta the Specialized took me to work and school. Waking at 5am the bike made it easy to arrive at Starbucks for my opening shift, especially since the 7 minute ride from Turner Village was 100% downhill. Going home wasn’t quite as much fun.

In year two and three at Candler the insanely steep hill on Dyson Drive convinced me walking to class was a better idea than riding. I found other places to take the bike, like the fabulous rails-to-trails path on the west side of the city. I wish I had explored Georgia biking more.

Becoming a pastor, in Hutchinson, I began to run. The bike was used less but not completely neglected. Ella and I rode frequently as she started training for her first triathlon. A few crazy days we played tennis, rode the entire length of the Jim Martinez trail and then ran a mile just to see what it felt like. It hurt.

I expected to move in the summer of 2006. I asked to. I was told to stay. For my faithfulness to the vows of itineracy (or non-itineracy) I bought myself a present. The Giant OCR-3, beautiful baby blue. Now gears changed with a flick of the thumb. I obsessed over the extravagance. That was easier than dealing with the anxiety of staying in Hutchinson. But who needs a $700 bike? Turns out I did. Hours of exploring Reno county roads that summer made all the difference.

Six months later, moving to Wichita gave me the chance to train with other cyclists for my first century (100 mile) ride. In preparation I have spent more on accessories than on several of those other bikes. I know the blue Giant is a limited machine. I will upgrade again. I will probably downgrade too, to fewer gears, a slower ride. My love affair with cycling isn’t even at the half-way point. I’d like to ride for 50 more years. I still want to be thrilled and soothed by the sound of the wheels and the wind on my face when I turn 80.


If my story thus far is any indication, I'll always need the bike. Just like I need the dog and I need the friends, and I need the scriptures. It's the rhythm of my life, the way I move through this world.