Mom & Dad, What Were You Thinking?

This story goes back as far as the early 70s, long before I met Melodie but not before I first met a bicycle. For many troubled youths bicycling became an escape from a rough family life. They would travel into worlds unknown for as long as they could before returning home to a turbulent life. This was not the case for me.

I loved being on a bike for the simple joy of having the air blow in my face. I love to hear the sounds and smell the smells. I don’t know, maybe I’m part cocker spaniel or something. Anyway, I have had a bike (or 2 or 3) ever since I was old enough to ride “a two wheeler”. I dreamed of one day taking my bike on the open road. I had little, ok no, idea of what that entailed; but I was going to do it someday.

That day finally arrived in 1971, the summer between my years at James Monroe Jr. High and Burroughs High School. I don’t really recall where the genesis for this trip was but at some point my friend, Gary Woods, and I decided we would take a bike trip. I was 14 years old and Gary was 13 years old. Neither of us had a bike worthy of going but that didn’t deter us. Mine, was actually my sister Nancy’s bike, an old 10-speed Schwinn that she had paid $10 for at a yard sale.

We didn’t have modern day “panniers” which are bags that are attached to the frame near each wheel, so we improvised with what we knew. Being avid backpackers we simply devised a plan to secure my backpack to the bike rack on the rear. Dad found some angle metal that allowed us to cut and fashion the perfect solution. Once completed, I could take my backpack, set it on the base of the frame, just above the rear wheel, and strap it to the uprights. Gary’s bike came over for the same retrofit job. Once loaded this 25-30 pound pack made the bike extremely heavy and unstable, the entire weight of it all resting on what were probably $.15 bolts (only 3) attached to the bike frame.

Our plan, albeit loosely defined, was to get dropped of at Lone Pine where we would camp and fish for a few days and then we would ride our bikes back to Ridgecrest, a distance of 80 miles. The route would be Hwy 395, which even now is not a route I would call safe. Then it was mostly a 2-lane road with an occasional 3rd center lane for passing. The “bike lane” then and now could not have been more than 4 feet wide at its most generous point.

My dad drove us to Lone Pine on the appointed day and dropped us off at Tuttle Creek Campground, just about ¾ of a mile from the town center. There was a stream for fresh water and bathrooms nearby. The proximity of the town would facilitate both food and entertainment. We each had about $20 for the 4-day trip, but since we expected to catch and eat most of our dinners that seemed very doable.

We explored town and many of the side streets on our bikes. One day we rode our bikes about 4 miles up Whitney Portal Road to where we found excellent fishing. We both caught our maximum, coasted back to our camp, unloaded and head back up to do it again. Our youthfulness knew no limits of energy. One day we rode north to Independence, a distance of 32 miles round trip, just to eat a burger and milk shake. I don’t remember if the burger joint was our destination or simply what we did to once we arrived at the smaller town and county seat.

For four days and three nights we had an absolute blast. There were no beds to make, certainly no lawns to mow but best of all we were our own captains. We rode when we wanted, ate when we wanted, slept when we wanted and arose when we were good and ready. However there came a time when we were expected to be home so we prepared ourselves for the ride south.

We woke early that day and packed up our equipment and loaded them on the bikes. This was really going to be our first effort to ride any considerable distance with the racks fully loaded. After a few miles I knew this was going to be tougher than expected. Although we each had one water bottle fitted snuggly in a new bottle cage recently purchased from Western Auto on China Lake Blvd, we had absolutely no training; we had no tools or extra equipment for repairs and to top it off we didn’t have a two pennies to rub together.

I think my most vivid memory is of the heat and my unquenchable thirst. My water bottle became bone dry after 10 miles or so. At one point we were coasting down a hill and saw some greenery along side the road. There were a few cars pulled over there so we figured it must be a rest area of sorts and would certainly yield us more water for our bottles. We stopped. Not only was there no water to be had, we also lost all of our downhill momentum in the failed effort.

We continued on and after 20 miles we were nearing Cartago. There wasn’t much there, and certainly less today, except an auto repair shop and a few homes. About a mile from town I spotted and retrieved from the side of the road an 8-inch Crescent Wrench that someone had the misfortune of losing. I put it in my pocket for safekeeping.

Just as we were approaching Cartago part of the framework my dad and I had fashioned broke. This loose piece wanted to work its way into my spokes and made riding impossible. Now, you probably think that I’m going to tell you the wrench I found allowed me to fix the problem and triumphantly finish the ride. Not so. Who do you think I was, a 14-year old MacGyver?

The breakdown was a big problem. It quickly became evident that this was a showstopper. Gary and I never talked about it but I believe both of us were somewhat relieved that we had an excuse to abandon the trip. In our youthful excitement we had clearly bitten off more than we could chew or swallow. Today I wonder if our parents knew this and were willing to simply let us learn a life lesson. If not, then I have to ask, “Mom and Dad, what were you thinking?” Were you crazy? We were just 13 and 14.

Well, we limped our way into town and pulled into the auto repair shop. The mechanic took time to look at our problem and agreed there was no way to repair it without the likelihood that it would fail again just 5 miles down the road. We were going to have to call home to get rescued.

We had no money……but I did have that wrench. With little hesitation I accepted the offer from the mechanic to trade that wrench for 4 quarters. It was enough to make the call home and buy each of us a pop to quench our thirst while we waited for the ride to show.

I really wish I had pictures from this trip, as it was such a blast. Was it a failure? In some respects yes, and in other respects it was a launching pad to bigger and better things. I have continued to cycle since those days and have had much more success at planning and executing successful trips. Please see http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/ttfc for an example. Thanks for joining me on this adventure.