I have a picture somewhere (used to have, anyway) of my mom and dad riding through an orchard in Central California with me wrapped in a blanket in the basket of my dad's bike. I was born in Jan of 1945, so it must have been that spring. My father had just come home from the war, and few people in the area had cars. He was 25 then, rode occasionally until I was about 10, then gave it up until he was 75, when he bought a really crappy adult trike (tried to find a good one, but there wasn't much between $300 and $2000). He rode that around the neighborhood until shortly before his death at 83, but it was such a POS it was frustrating for him.