Bike Riding, a Childhood Story

Cutter's Log - Stardate 2102.72.21
Current Song - Green Hill Zone (from Sonic 1)

My bike riding stories are not limited to Geneseo.

Perhaps the thing that led up to that was the fact that I loved to ride my bike ... a lot!

My first bike was a little red Huffy with training wheels, as a 5th birthday present. Then I graduated to a bright hazard-orange Huffy Megamud, which was apparently the second-coolest bike in the west side of Rock Falls at the time (first was Geoff's motorcycle-looking bike).

Like many young children, I had my boundaries. We lived on 3rd Avenue in Rock Falls at the time, a block away from Merrill School. The river was to the north, First Avenue was to the east, 12th Avenue was to the west and Route 30 was to the south.

I know several of my friends have young boys almost getting to the age where they begin to wonder what's out there in the great beyond. These are my experiences, and I hope they help make sense of it all down the road.

By second grade I had explored what there was already to explore. My favorite street at that time was West 2nd Street, west of downtown (another story for another time :) ). The little orange bike was riding down the same streets over and over again. So one day I decided to cross a boundary.

Crossing boundaries were nothing new to me. Before I moved to Rock Falls, I lived on East 11th Street in Sterling. I wasn't allowed to cross 6th Avenue. So one day I did. I rode one block along 7th Avenue before crossing back. I was six years old at the time.

This particular adventure involved crossing First Avenue. This was when it was still Route 88. The safest way to do this was to go on the crosswalk at Dixon Avenue's stoplight. So I did that and went back down toward the old White Hen and onto 5th Street toward Thome School.

I had crossed First Avenue and was so excited that there was this whole new world to explore, as long as I didn't get caught.

I made my way along 5th Street and crossed Avenue A and the old railroad bank. As I approached Thome School, there was this ambulance (not on call) driving toward me. I peered in the Ambulance and my Uncle Greg was drving it. He waved to me and I waved to him.

Only a few moments later did I realize ... I probably shouldn't have waved. He was going eventually going to tell my parents where I was at, which was not good. Sure enough, he did and I was grounded.

Some time had passed and I was finally given the other side of First Avenue to cross - but not Route 30. And not across the river, of course.

One of my childhood friends during that time was a kid named Dustin. Along with the usual Nintendo games and such, him and I would sometimes ride our bikes around town. One day he asked me if I wanted to go to Sterling.

Going into Sterling? This was very daring for age 8. Something forced me not to say no, so I went along. We went behind Rock Falls High School and made our way to the first part of the bridge. I had never crossed a river outside of a car before (I guess he had) and slowly made my way along the sidewalk.

While I was riding on the bridge for the first time, my shoes somehow got untied. The string got wrapped around the pedal bar, and I couldn't move my leg.

Already on my first adventure over the bridge was I doomed. Dustin and I made our way over to the Lawrence Park Pool - he walked, I hopped. Hopping down that hill was a pain in the butt. I sat along the sidewalk outside of the Pool entrance while he went on and got some help. He got this young lady out to help me unravel my shoe string.

At the same time I'm hoping this lady doesn't ask where we are from and what we're doing. Or, even worse, ask us who we are.

I was already frightened by this experience, but Dustin persuaded me to continue on. 12th Avenue Bridge is actually this series of four bridges: two across water, one across the mill and one across railroad tracks. We had already made it through one in disaster, and now we had to go on the other three. While we were doing so, I kept looking down on that shoe, hoping it wouldn't come loose again.

Sure enough, we saw Aldi's and knew we made it into Sterling. The feeling was so great, knowing that I was a whole city away from my own house - by myself pretty much.

Now what?

Dustin and I rode along West 3rd Street, meandering our way around the sidewalk obstacles at first. The bricks are still there, and they are still overgrown.

At the same time I had kept worrying that someone was going to see me and I was going to get into trouble again. I kept telling Dustin to ride faster, as I wanted to hurry up and get the heck out of here. I already made it to Sterling, now let's go back. It took a while to get him going, but we eventually pedaled as hard as we could past the Temple, Neal's office and the pool bar, and then onto Locust around National Mfg.

We were back at First Avenue, and that was where the most cars were. So obviously I'm nervous trying to hope no familiar cars were seeing me.

Sure enough, right when we get underneath the railroad tracks, here comes this ambulance heading into Sterling. I'm nervous at first, and my first reaction was to see whether Uncle Greg or Aunt Conni were driving it. Yep, Greg was behind the wheel.

I'm freaking out and yelling at Dustin, LET'S GET OUT OF HERE! I didn't want to get in trouble again, so we pushed and pushed across First Avenue Bridge. The old bridge was more scary to cross than 12th Avenue because it was narrow with many cars driving by.

I never heard from my parents about this bikeride. That's because I don't think Greg saw me. (Or maybe he did).

***

First Avenue? Check. Sterling? Check.

Route 30 was perhaps more dangerous to cross because there were a lot of semi-trucks, and my parents were worried about me getting hit by one of them. They dreaded me crossing Route 30 most of all.

But that was the only other boundary that was left to cross.

As a little kid, crossing it was a huge pain in the butt. That was back when it had those old crumbling medians. But I really wanted to see what was out there, despite the fact that I had two close calls.

During my bikerides, I would keep an eye for any familiar cars. My parents drove a red Ford Taurus. My grandparents drove a brown Oldsmobile 88. My mom's mom drove a black Chevy Cavalier. And of course, I was on the lookout for any CGH ambulances.

There were just too many cars on Route 30, and the fear of someone finding me was just too great. Then I came up with a plan.

The only way I was going to cross Route 30 was to go under it.

I had to make my way to Centennial Park first, and get on the canal path. I then casually rode my way under Route 30. That was simple.

I discovered a small walking bridge behind the Ramada hotel that went off of the canal path. I made my way on the other side of the trees and onto the hotel parking lot. At that time, Workman's hadn't been built yet (they were at the current Beverage Store location), nor was Culver's. It was an open field, and I walked parallel to it onto Wal-Mart.

I was thirsty and had a quarter in my pocket, and got one of those Sam's Choice cans of pop from the machine. Then I went back to the canal and parked my bike under the Route 30 bridge and hung out there for a while.

When I got back home I was so excited about my plan that I ended up telling my mom that I indeed went to Wal-Mart. She was very upset that I had crossed Route 30. I had to keep telling her that, no I went UNDER it.

At first she thought I went in a sewer tunnel.

Technically I didn't CROSS Route 30. I went UNDER it.

Years later, this ended up being a cute story.

This is a story that comes up at family gatherings when the subject of riding bikes come up.

***

I loved that orange bike. Many of my rides wound up being by friends's houses, hoping we see each other and would play.

It had brakes that were through the pedals, and not by hand grips. Jared had one of those bikes where the brake was by a hand-grip. We were riding by Grummert's one day and decided to switch bikes. I had trouble riding his, and he had trouble riding mine.

That bike went everywhere. Except when it was raining. One day it poured during the middle of a bike ride. I was on West 6th Street near P-Town road. As I made my way along 6th Street, the rain kept getting harder and harder, and eventually I was crying. Back then, Geoff and Emily lived across the street from each other near there and I was riding my bike crying as I crossed that intersection. In the back of my head I hoped they didn't see me and tell me about it the next day at school.

The bike survived pilfering attempts by Danny Schick and Justin Reyes.

Eventually that orange bike broke down on a trek toward Coleta. I had to be driven home by a farmer. I told him to drop me off at SuperAmerica because I didn't want my parents to see me.

After that came a chrome-green colored bike. Then it was my Uncle Scott's old Schwinn. Then the dark blue bike that made it to Geneseo.