3-in-One: Riding Bikes in Montpelier

Summer time in Montpelier was a glorious time. As my memory serves, our favorite group activity was riding bikes around the neighborhood. I don't remember how old I was, but when I came of age, Dad took me down to the Coast-to-Coast hardware store and let me pick out a bike. I didn't get the one with mag-wheels because it was too expensive, but I got a BMX style blue bike with yellow trim, which served me well for many long years to come.

The best/closest place to ride bikes was near a small grove of trees across from the end of our street. There was a small grove of enormous Cottonwood trees adjacent to a field that seemed to be mostly fallow. This place was known as "Big Trees". There was a small dry stream bed and we would ride our bikes around the field and through the stream bed until a path was well worn. Because of the stream bed, there were at least two places in the path where an experienced rider could get some "air". We would mostly go as a group, taking turns to admire each other's performance and try to out do each other. Once I went there on my own, and there were two older girls using our path. I don't remember being annoyed with them being on our path. I distinctly remember how slowly they were going, getting no air at all, despite their amazement at their performance. On top of that, they were ignoring protocol by monopolizing the path. It was obvious enough to me that I was patiently waiting my turn, but as one girl waited for the other to complete the circuit, she would wait at the head of the trail, preventing me from getting access. The two took turns for a few loops, and eventually let me take a turn. As I rode past, I muttered to myself "Now it's my turn", intent on showing these girls how the course was really supposed to be ridden. As I started on my way, I heard one girls say to the other in disgust "Did you hear what he said?" I was mortified, and made my loop and then quickly proceeded home.

Another favorite place was a large dirt hill behind all of our cul-de-sacs and over nearer to the edge of town (as I remember it). If I remember correctly, there was a small path between the house across from us and the old-folks home. If not there, then at the end of the next street over. We only rode on this hill in the later years, as it was quite large, and Mother preferred that we not ride on it. I had made my way over one evening, and as it was getting dark, I began to head home. There was knee-high (or higher) grass on the sides of the path, and because it was twilight, it was difficult to see the path until the ground was right under the front wheel. I was hustling home as quickly as I could, and didn't see the large rock in the middle of the road until it was too late. I tried to turn out of the way, but my front wheel struck the rock, and the force twisted my handlebars around so that my left handle met my stomach full-force. The rock stopped the momentum of the bike, but not mine, and my entire weight was thrown into the left grip, now facing directly at my stomach. I remember that I was completely stopped mid-air, and sort of fell over onto the ground, not sure if I was going to be able to make it home, hoping it wasn't anything too serious. I guess it wasn't.

One thing that we only did occasionally was race our bikes. I don't know why, but perhaps this experience helped to contribute. We raced our bikes, three or four at a time, from our house (at the dead-end side of the street) to end of the road, with the finish line being the beginning of the intersection. The street wasn't too busy, but it was one of the main roads in town, so we stationed an observer at the finish line. The primary job was NOT to determine the winner, but rather to wait until traffic looked clear to start the race and to stop the race should any traffic be approaching. The observing duties were passed to one of the younger members of the group after some time, I seem to remember it was Aaron, but it very well could have been John Vermaas's younger brother (I don't remember his name). At any rate, the race finished, but bikes went into the crossroad, right as a car came by. It was a small town, and despite any effort on our part to disguise our identities, an older lady ended up at our front door to report our dangerous activities involving riding blind into cross traffic. I was amazed that Mom didn't understand that the blame rested squarely on the observer an no one else. We had obviously taken the necessary precautions in posting an observer. If they had only done their job, there would not have been any problem at all.

Montpelier topics for future posts:
- flying kites
- going to Peagram
- Shawn Lloyd
- Jason/Justin Smith and The Karate Kid
- Dustin Christensen and the garage door
- snow forts
- M-Hill at Christmas
- Aaron and Deborah's big spill
- re-building jumps

Turlock topics for future posts
- not getting paid to kiss Laurie Spencer
- Marco Polo
- observing C-Sections
- not driving Roger Lewis's new Lexus
- election convention
- Milton Hugues vs. Brian Wilkenson