The other day I felt a momentary twinge in an unmentionable part of my body. This twinge unlocked a memory of an incident when I was a pre-teen. That, in turn, got me thinking of other memorable moments of me and bikes. I'll try to take them in chronological order. I'm omitting the addresses of the many homes we lived in (cyber-security), but I remember them all.
At an early age I started on a tricycle. I have a vague memory of riding around the block, perhaps to the Marsden's house. I also had a scooter, which helped in my balance when I got my first bike. The first bike was a hand-me-down from my cousin, Jan. I was fortunate that it was a girl's bike because it was 'way too big for me and I couldn't sit on the saddle and pedal. There was an alley across the street that was flat and that is where I honed my skill. The alley behind our house was inclined and it wasn't long before I could do that. I remember riding several blocks on a busy (by 1940's standard) road to the playground, so I guess I grew into the bike. Unlike today's kids, I walked to school, which was maybe a mile or so away. We moved when I was in 4th grade.
I don't remember getting it, but I know I had an "English" bike with Sturmey-Archer gears. I'd ride it everywhere. The most vivid memory was coming home. The walkway led to the front porch and went down two steps along the side of the house to the back yard. Somehow, I didn't stop at the front porch and went down the two steps, my feet coming off the pedals and me landing on the cross bar. That really hurt. Fifteen or so years later I learned that one of my testicles was crushed (the doctor didn't use that term). I suspect this is the incident that caused it.
Next house, next memory. Seventh or eighth grade, and I remember getting a new bike for Christmas. It was red, single speed. The following Christmas is the real memory. For whatever reason, I had seen a punch bowl set in a store in Silver Spring, about ten miles away. I knew the way by car and talked my neighbor, Dickie, into going with me. We made it to the store and I made the purchase. The salient facts: I rode one-handed the whole way back, holding the box with the other; I under-estimated the time and it was getting dark before we got back; both sets of parents were distraught; I don't think Dickie was allowed to associate with me after that.
I have to digress a bit. Back when I was still riding the trike, my big brothers, Jack and Richard, cycled from DC to Baltimore and back one Saturday. They proved it by mailing a post-card from Baltimore. I don't remember the event, but it was legendary in the family, retold many times. It made me want to do something similar. The Silver Spring caper may have been influenced by their ride. I know that in high school, I planned a ride down into Virginia, about a hundred miles total. That never materialized, but sat in a corner of my mind until much later.
Once I learned to drive, the bike was forgotten, and we have to skip from 1960 to 1975. Now married with three kids. We were living in Austin. There was a lot of hype regarding the upcoming Bicentennial. This included a coast-to-coast bike trip, The BikeCentennial. That captured my imagination. I researched bikes, purchased a Schwinn Sports Tourer (which I still have), and proceeded to train. I rode to Inks Lake, yes 183 and 29. Then I rode to Waco, Interstate access road. At least, that was the plan. It was a family trip to Dallas. I was going to ride to Waco and Marilane would pick me up on the road. Saturday morning arrived, along with a cold front. I had inadequate clothing, being new to long-distance cycling, so was chilled for the first hour or so. I remember stopping (what is now Hester's Crossing) in Round Rock to ponder going through town or taking the Interstate, since there wasn't an access road. I took the Interstate. I stopped in Temple for lunch and was tempted to call it a day. The temperature had risen and was comfortable but the north wind was wearing me out. But we had calculated where I would be to intersect with Marilane and I had a few more hours to go. As it turned out, I made it as far as the long hill going into Lorena. Timing was perfect, I was only waiting about fifteen minutes before I saw Marilane coming. I packed up the car and not long after was snoozing in the passenger seat. Circumstances prevented me from doing BikeCentennial, but that dream never went away.
A memory from Corpus Christi. It was a ride from northwest CC towards, I think, Robstown. My son, Chris, was in 5th or 6th grade and he accompanied me. This is a hazy memory, but I remember we didn't make it to Robstown and the $5 I had in my pocket for snacks and drinks had somehow come out of my pocket and left us high and dry. A fun ride turned into a chore, but we made it back unscathed, if parched.
Back in Austin, and it was getting close to retirement. You know it is close to retirement when the job you've enjoyed for thirty years begins to lose its appeal. I was fortunate in my bosses, however, and received permission to cobble two years vacation together and actually complete the coast-to-coast trip. My attitude at work had been deteriorating, and this trip finished it off. But I hung around another four years. The remainder of my biking adventures can be found in my two books, Bicycle Journeys with Jerry and Gotta Go! and on my blog Jerryscyclingblog.blogspot.com. You might want to follow my blog because I'm not writing another book and I have one more big adventure left in me.
