BICYCLE DAYS
Back then summer was heaven. A few months of no school, few rules, and fun friends. A magic season despite the heat, chigger bites, bruises, and sun burns.
Unless it was very dark, very rainy, or you were sick or being punished, everyone was an outside kid during those long ago summers. It was "out of the house" time from just after breakfast until the last lighting bug found a safe spot away from our grasp and a glass jar prison. Also, we captured, teased, and tortured turtles, lizards, snakes, toads and other small creatures. War games with toy soldiers arranged for battle and attacked by our BB gun pellets also provided great amusement. Big green June bugs and tiny Japanese beetles were non biting fun things, especially if any girls were nearby. The local creeks were our fishing holes and swimming spot until we saw too many undulating water moccasins. From the banks we observed floating massive lazy carp, graceful water birds, and snagged small perch to feed my moms cats. We combined simple pursuits with lots of imagination in filling our summer days.
Above all our bicycles gave us the most adventure and entertainment. My main friend during this time was Tommy Bunting who lived about a mile away. Tommy, other kids, and my cousins joined in our daily escapades from time to time. Our bikes gave us wings to explore the world beyond our homes.
Bicycles represented our earliest freedom to travel within the limits of parental boundaries and usually beyond. Our bikes were thick tired, one speed, heavy, fender free machines. Their newness and factory shine quickly wore off as we raced through underbrush, and wrecked coming off homemade ramps. Of course we wore no helmets, and miraculously survived numerous planned and unplanned crashes. Our bicycles were continuously modified with various paint schemes, decals, and noise making contraptions. These two wheeled vehicles were poor relatives to the ten speed, sleek, thin wheeled racers modeled in the Sears catalog, but our bikes could weather any mud hole or unpaved trail.
In the late 50's, Jolliff Road was a two lane paved county byway. Traffic was light so it was easy to bicycle our way to visit friends, local general stores, and our fishing creeks. The roads hard surface was a composite of gravel and cement held together by black tar. On hot summer days the tar became oozy enough to extract and enjoy. We chewed it and rolled fake cigars from the gooey stuff. Even after granny told us it contained old men's spit and squashed animals, we still found it suitable for chewing and modeling. The road had very narrow grassy shoulders and deep drainage ditches. Occasionally, hoods in their hot rods would scream at us as they closely sped by, and this sometimes caused us to careen into the ditches. Aside from a few nasty scratches and bumped heads, it wasn't all bad because valuable soda bottles worth refunds were hidden among the squirmy creatures and trash in the ditches.
Grandfather Ank grew several rows of gladiola flowers in his garden, and allowed us to sell a few in exchange for digging up his potatoes. Older neighbor folks were our best customers. We sold a bunch of the long multi colored blooms for twenty five to fifty cents each. Once we had earned a dollar or two, and combined with pennies from a few refundable thick soda bottles, we headed to one of the local general stores.
All the nearby country stores were owned by couples living close by. Wampler's was the only store on Jolliff Road, but it had a limited stock of snacks and maintained an irregular schedule. Tignor's Store was a little farther away and it carried lots of good things, but it was a very small place and Mrs. Tignor always seemed anxious for us to leave. The very old Warren couple were just out of our biking range and also had a tiny store. Mr. Warren was locally famous for shooting dead a robber years earlier. Kirchmier's near the Hodges Ferry Bridge was a three or four mile ride, but it was the best stocked store, and Mr. Kirchmier enjoyed all his customers including the kids.
However, our most frequent destination was Weatherly's Store. Mr. and Mrs. Weatherly were the ever present operators, and they maintained a nice sized business featuring an old fashioned stove in the middle of the store surrounded by chairs. The building was one of faded wood planks with a brick base and a roof that was shiny silver tin sheets sporting a few rust spots. Inside it always seemed hazy possibly because Mrs. Weatherly was always sweeping the floor. The wooden floor creaked with every step. Their store carried a shelf of car parts, local vegetables, hardware things, milk, gasoline, tobacco items, tools, guns, kerosene, canned goods, knives, work clothes, farm implements, and a great variety of wonderfully packaged snacks and ice cold drinks. They were very friendly to all their customers.
Whenever we visited Weatherly's we found a group of older men, white and colored, sitting around talking, arguing, and puffing away at their cigarettes and pipes. These friendly old geezers were always ready to tease Tommy and I and then chuckle at our shyness and clumsy responses. Some of the men sported walking sticks. A few were accompanied by their old dogs which were lazily stretched out and sound asleep at their feet.
We carefully contemplated our purchases which usually consisted of a sweet or salty packaged snack and an ice cold, brilliantly colored soda. The combinations were endless, and required time and careful study before our choices could be finalized. Mr. Weatherly always asked once or twice if our selections were final, and sometimes we would make a change. While the big Nehi orange and strawberry drinks were tasty, and the tiny Brownie brand chocolate milk was delicious, my choice was usually the huge Nehi grape soda. Tommy being a year younger than me was sometimes a copy cat, but tended to choose the bubbly 7-Up or Upper 10 drinks. Mr. Weatherly always had a big metal wash bucket full of drinks covered in chunks of ice near the front door. On a hot summer day after the two mile bicycle trip we would be dripping sweat, and the bucket of ice and drinks was always a refreshing sight. Once we made our drink choice, we turned to the rack of packaged snacks and baked items. It was hard to choose between the twin packs of Twinkies, Hostess Cupcakes, large Moon Pies, bags of chips, popcorn or pretzels. I usually chose a sweet item and Tommy liked the salty snacks. Once our choices were completed and paid for we exited to a bench outside near the single gas pump. From this shady spot we watched and tested each others knowledge in identifying car models. After fifteen or twenty minutes of snacking and slurping our drinks we were off again cycling.
On at least one occasion I can recall, we arrived at Weatherly's without any money, and just three bottles worth only a few cents each. Maybe enough money for a piece of candy or chunk of Bazooka gum, but not enough for a big soda and snack. We were far short of the twenty five to thirty five cents needed for each combo. After spending a lot of time looking, we admitted to Mr. Weatherly that we were broke. He rubbed his forehead, like he was thinking, and then asked if we thought our dads would mind being charged for our snacks. Without any fore thought, we happily said it would be OK. We got our goodies and they were put on our family accounts. I remember my father grumbled when he squared up his bill on payday. He was unhappy because I forgot to tell him anything about the transaction.
Our beat up bicycles served us well on rutted dirt lanes as well as paved surfaces for a number of glorious summers. Eventually, Tommy and I traded our bicycles for learners permits then occasional use of the family car. My Roadmaster slowly rusted during my final high school year, and was discarded or given away a few years later when I joined the Army. All the general stores and their unique owner/operators have vanished. A few years ago my boyhood pal, Tommy, passed from this world. While Jolliff Road still exists it has changed. Its a much busier throughway with a more suburban feel than the rural setting I recall.
Those good times are now gone, but the bicycle memories made along Jolliff Road are sweet and enduring.
Unless it was very dark, very rainy, or you were sick or being punished, everyone was an outside kid during those long ago summers. It was "out of the house" time from just after breakfast until the last lighting bug found a safe spot away from our grasp and a glass jar prison. Also, we captured, teased, and tortured turtles, lizards, snakes, toads and other small creatures. War games with toy soldiers arranged for battle and attacked by our BB gun pellets also provided great amusement. Big green June bugs and tiny Japanese beetles were non biting fun things, especially if any girls were nearby. The local creeks were our fishing holes and swimming spot until we saw too many undulating water moccasins. From the banks we observed floating massive lazy carp, graceful water birds, and snagged small perch to feed my moms cats. We combined simple pursuits with lots of imagination in filling our summer days.
Above all our bicycles gave us the most adventure and entertainment. My main friend during this time was Tommy Bunting who lived about a mile away. Tommy, other kids, and my cousins joined in our daily escapades from time to time. Our bikes gave us wings to explore the world beyond our homes.
Bicycles represented our earliest freedom to travel within the limits of parental boundaries and usually beyond. Our bikes were thick tired, one speed, heavy, fender free machines. Their newness and factory shine quickly wore off as we raced through underbrush, and wrecked coming off homemade ramps. Of course we wore no helmets, and miraculously survived numerous planned and unplanned crashes. Our bicycles were continuously modified with various paint schemes, decals, and noise making contraptions. These two wheeled vehicles were poor relatives to the ten speed, sleek, thin wheeled racers modeled in the Sears catalog, but our bikes could weather any mud hole or unpaved trail.
In the late 50's, Jolliff Road was a two lane paved county byway. Traffic was light so it was easy to bicycle our way to visit friends, local general stores, and our fishing creeks. The roads hard surface was a composite of gravel and cement held together by black tar. On hot summer days the tar became oozy enough to extract and enjoy. We chewed it and rolled fake cigars from the gooey stuff. Even after granny told us it contained old men's spit and squashed animals, we still found it suitable for chewing and modeling. The road had very narrow grassy shoulders and deep drainage ditches. Occasionally, hoods in their hot rods would scream at us as they closely sped by, and this sometimes caused us to careen into the ditches. Aside from a few nasty scratches and bumped heads, it wasn't all bad because valuable soda bottles worth refunds were hidden among the squirmy creatures and trash in the ditches.
Grandfather Ank grew several rows of gladiola flowers in his garden, and allowed us to sell a few in exchange for digging up his potatoes. Older neighbor folks were our best customers. We sold a bunch of the long multi colored blooms for twenty five to fifty cents each. Once we had earned a dollar or two, and combined with pennies from a few refundable thick soda bottles, we headed to one of the local general stores.
All the nearby country stores were owned by couples living close by. Wampler's was the only store on Jolliff Road, but it had a limited stock of snacks and maintained an irregular schedule. Tignor's Store was a little farther away and it carried lots of good things, but it was a very small place and Mrs. Tignor always seemed anxious for us to leave. The very old Warren couple were just out of our biking range and also had a tiny store. Mr. Warren was locally famous for shooting dead a robber years earlier. Kirchmier's near the Hodges Ferry Bridge was a three or four mile ride, but it was the best stocked store, and Mr. Kirchmier enjoyed all his customers including the kids.
However, our most frequent destination was Weatherly's Store. Mr. and Mrs. Weatherly were the ever present operators, and they maintained a nice sized business featuring an old fashioned stove in the middle of the store surrounded by chairs. The building was one of faded wood planks with a brick base and a roof that was shiny silver tin sheets sporting a few rust spots. Inside it always seemed hazy possibly because Mrs. Weatherly was always sweeping the floor. The wooden floor creaked with every step. Their store carried a shelf of car parts, local vegetables, hardware things, milk, gasoline, tobacco items, tools, guns, kerosene, canned goods, knives, work clothes, farm implements, and a great variety of wonderfully packaged snacks and ice cold drinks. They were very friendly to all their customers.
Whenever we visited Weatherly's we found a group of older men, white and colored, sitting around talking, arguing, and puffing away at their cigarettes and pipes. These friendly old geezers were always ready to tease Tommy and I and then chuckle at our shyness and clumsy responses. Some of the men sported walking sticks. A few were accompanied by their old dogs which were lazily stretched out and sound asleep at their feet.
We carefully contemplated our purchases which usually consisted of a sweet or salty packaged snack and an ice cold, brilliantly colored soda. The combinations were endless, and required time and careful study before our choices could be finalized. Mr. Weatherly always asked once or twice if our selections were final, and sometimes we would make a change. While the big Nehi orange and strawberry drinks were tasty, and the tiny Brownie brand chocolate milk was delicious, my choice was usually the huge Nehi grape soda. Tommy being a year younger than me was sometimes a copy cat, but tended to choose the bubbly 7-Up or Upper 10 drinks. Mr. Weatherly always had a big metal wash bucket full of drinks covered in chunks of ice near the front door. On a hot summer day after the two mile bicycle trip we would be dripping sweat, and the bucket of ice and drinks was always a refreshing sight. Once we made our drink choice, we turned to the rack of packaged snacks and baked items. It was hard to choose between the twin packs of Twinkies, Hostess Cupcakes, large Moon Pies, bags of chips, popcorn or pretzels. I usually chose a sweet item and Tommy liked the salty snacks. Once our choices were completed and paid for we exited to a bench outside near the single gas pump. From this shady spot we watched and tested each others knowledge in identifying car models. After fifteen or twenty minutes of snacking and slurping our drinks we were off again cycling.
On at least one occasion I can recall, we arrived at Weatherly's without any money, and just three bottles worth only a few cents each. Maybe enough money for a piece of candy or chunk of Bazooka gum, but not enough for a big soda and snack. We were far short of the twenty five to thirty five cents needed for each combo. After spending a lot of time looking, we admitted to Mr. Weatherly that we were broke. He rubbed his forehead, like he was thinking, and then asked if we thought our dads would mind being charged for our snacks. Without any fore thought, we happily said it would be OK. We got our goodies and they were put on our family accounts. I remember my father grumbled when he squared up his bill on payday. He was unhappy because I forgot to tell him anything about the transaction.
Our beat up bicycles served us well on rutted dirt lanes as well as paved surfaces for a number of glorious summers. Eventually, Tommy and I traded our bicycles for learners permits then occasional use of the family car. My Roadmaster slowly rusted during my final high school year, and was discarded or given away a few years later when I joined the Army. All the general stores and their unique owner/operators have vanished. A few years ago my boyhood pal, Tommy, passed from this world. While Jolliff Road still exists it has changed. Its a much busier throughway with a more suburban feel than the rural setting I recall.
Those good times are now gone, but the bicycle memories made along Jolliff Road are sweet and enduring.
posted by final lap at
9:32:00 PM
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