First Wheels

I start way back at the farm on Belk Road, when my brother Warren and I were given a red tricycle to share. He being the ripe old age of seven, two years older than myself, somehow endowed him with great wisdom and the final say on most things. Therefore, one day the decision was made between us that the trike must be figuratively divided in half. As in a business meeting, all kinds of ideas were entertained until finally Mr. Warren decided that the best idea was for him to own everything from the seat forward and that I would own everything behind the seat, including the back wheels and a lovely tray about the size of a small roaster that I could sit in whenever I wanted. The deal was struck, and most of the time it worked very well as long as we were using the bike together. Warren would sit proudly up front and pedal while I sat in the back mooching a ride. The deal was great for Warren when he wanted to use the bike alone. He could just hop on and go anywhere at anytime. The deal wasn’t so great for the naïve little sister who could only sit on the back of the trike and wait for her driver. Sometimes that driver was nowhere to be found, but a deal had been made, and I never dared break the verbal contract.

My next set of wheels was a beautiful shiny red bicycle, which was given to me while we lived at 8th Avenue. The purpose of this bike was to get me from home to Tauranga Intermediate School each day. I was about eleven years old at the time, and this school was the equivalent of Middle School. There was a huge hill to go down, but once onto the main street of Cameron Road, there was a great bike path that could accommodate four bikes across. School was about two to three miles from home. I had learned to ride a two wheeler as we called them, when I was about seven or eight years old. The family owned one great big old black bike that I practiced on day in and day out. It was so big that I had to reach way up high to the handle bars, and the seat was so high that there was no way I could sit on it and pedal at the same time. I learned to ride standing up. It was a good feeling to finally conquer that bike.

My next two wheeler was motorized. Not long after I turned nineteen, Dad helped me buy a second hand Honda 50 scooter. Now I had finally arrived. It was red and white and got so many miles to the gallon that it seemed I hardly ever had to fill up. I buzzed all over Auckland New Zealand on that thing. It had red and white saddle bags that carried everything I needed, and I had a matching red helmet, so I was pretty matchy matchy. In order to get to work each day I had to cross the Auckland Harbor Bridge from Takapuna to the big city. It was illegal to run out of gas while on the bridge, because you would be obstructing the flow of traffic. This was considered a serious violation, and the penalty was an automatic ticket. Well, one day I did run out of gas on the bridge, but as good fortune would have it, just as the policeman pulled up I remembered that I had a reserve tank and all I had to do was press a button to switch over to that tank, and then start up again. I was very flustered, and he basically let me know I was very lucky this time, and not to try that again. I sheepishly rode off, feeling a mixture of luck and embarrassment. Not long before I came to the United States I sold the scooter to a Dutchman for $150.


My first car was one I inherited as joint ownership with Leland by virtue of our marriage. Believe it or not, it was not red, but yellow – Leland’s favorite color. It was a zippy little Pinto with a sunroof and brown faux leather seats. This was Leland’s pride and joy, as it was the first brand new car he’d ever purchased. Nothing about the car was automatic. You had to wind open the sunroof, wind open the windows, and of course it had a stick shift. In its own way the car was very versatile as it even had a hatchback, so you could put the back seats down and use it to haul stuff. Later on we bought a specialized tent that fit right over the open hatch back, and slept there on many camping excursions. There was no air conditioning, but all you had to do was open the vents and crack the sunroof, and you’d be blessed with a steady stream of fresh air. The faster the car went the more air you got. When Jana was about six months old we took a trip to California, put the back seats down and just let her roll around back there. Of course we’d laid out blankets and made it all cozy and comfy. We’d even strung a makeshift mobile back there using kitchen utensils and other household items. She was as happy as a clam, but I cringe now, especially when I think about all the modern day safety regulations. We all have many happy memories of the Pinto. Both Jana and Robyn remember getting in their swimsuits and washing and hosing it down, and then being allowed to actually play inside it. When the girls were about eleven and nine years of age, the Pinto was on it’s last legs, or wheels you might say, so we gave it to Clark Bayles to fix up so he could sell it and use the money for his mission.

We’ve had many used cars since then, some so big in the 80’s, that I often felt like I was driving a huge sunroom around. I remember well driving, with the girls standing on the back seat. After having to brake suddenly I looked back, and all I could see were four legs sticking up after they’d fallen head first onto the floor of the car. They thought it was great fun. I thought for sure I’d killed them. It’s amazing they’re still alive after years of no car seats or seat belts.

The only new car we’ve had since the yellow Pinto is the one we currently own, our Red Honda Pilot, which we purchased in 2006. It’s very adequate, and we certainly don’t need it as a status symbol, because I’m sure that true to form we’ll hang on to it ‘til it falls apart, or just won’t go anymore.


Written by Hilda S. Gamette
February 25, 2009