Of bicycles and music

My brother Bill and I got seri­ously into rock music about the same time. I was in junior high and he was in his early high school years. We shared tunes and pushed each other deeper.

Then one week­end I took the bus down to Cam­bridge from our home in Woburn, Mass­a­chu­setts with my buddy Bryan. We had begun enjoy­ing rac­ing bicy­cles, and The Bicy­cle Exchange was known for its selec­tion of superlight Ital­ian imports. I learned that Cam­pag­nolo was not pro­nounced “cam-pag-no-lo” but rather “cohm-pan-yo-lo”.

So they had deeply intrigu­ing music play­ing over some warm walnut-veneered speak­ers. I heard Bach, fol­lowed by blue­grass, fol­lowed by Jimi Hen­drix, fol­lowed by reg­gae. Any­thing was game. I asked the bearded shop expert the radio station’s name. “WBCN,” he said.

When I got home, WBCN became my sta­ple. I was stretched over and over but learned that music was far richer and deeper than what the main­stream sta­tions played. I still returned to those high­ways from time to time to get a pop fix. But I was changed forever.

Epi­logue: WBCN is now one of those main­stream music out­lets. The Bicy­cle Exchange is still oper­at­ing, but they out­grew their lit­tle shop at 3 Bow Street. They’re now at 2067 Mass Ave. And my brother and I still share music.