A Remembrance

I watch the bicycles. From my front porch I see them zip and glide by. When was the last time I rode a bike? When I was a kid, above all things, I loved to ride my bike. My neighborhood was a big loop. Not a part of a loop or a part of a block; it was just a random loop planted by a river. It expanded at the rate of a house a year, and we were on the 23rd year. Beyond it's barriers, that were my barriers until about nine, lay three regions. The ever so dangerous road to the "Falls". It is called the "Grand Falls" and I lived at "Grand Falls Plaza". The Falls were about a 1/2 mile away (more likely a 1/4 mile, but I was a kid). The road was a favorite speedway for the muscle-car-boys. Teenagers were so scary in the seventies, and early eighties. They seem so comical and unreal now. But then they seemed as alien as anything I had experienced. True I wasn't an adult, but most adults were friendly, and my parents were adults. We existed in two different worlds, but our relationship was friendly and generally peaceful. Teenagers on the hand, were completely unpredictable. At one time you looked up to them and wanted to be accepted by these adults-in-between. At another time you knew that they were a kind of dangerous that we were not ready for yet. I mean I climbed cliff faces that would have turned my parents white if they had seen me. I built boats and ventured onto the river, and later sank. I was a fairly courageous venturer. But there were places that these older kids were going that I didn't want to go to... yet. It seeemed that a lot of their adventures involved an element of menace. Not just physically dangerous; but socially malevolent. I remember all these guys making molotov cocktails and throwing them all over the rocks at the falls. There were flames everywhere. It was quite a sight. They were yelling and hooping and hollerin'. "Whoo-haw, Whoo-Wee." There was also broken glass all over the place. Where people went swimming and sun bathed during the day. Broken glass all over the rocks, and in all of the pools. That was I all I could think. Why would they do that? They even lived here and came here to swim. What kind of insanity is in my future? My God, what kind of monster was I going to become? The other border was the river. There was the "Low Water Bridge". Not that it probably should be capitalized. But when it is your borders as a kid there is always the capital letter landmarks of the area. We had many places that sounded vague to the outsider, but were clear to us as the capital places. Sure there were tons of puddles in our stomping grounds. But everyone knew a certain one to be known as "The Puddle". There was "The Fort", "The Castle", "The Cave", and many others lost to me now. So our low water bridge, was "The Low Water Bridge". The Bridge straddled Shoal Creek. Shoal Creek sometimes swelled enough to make the Bridge uncrossable. There were times in my life that briefly we were either it's captive, or repulsed from our very home and into my Grandparents. This rare variable made living there a little more enjoyable for me. Shoal Creek was the city's sewer. There weren't a lot of fish to be caught in it's brown waters. No one told us that we shouldn't, but we didn't spend any time in the Creek. I probably only actually swam in Shoal Creek about ten times in the five years that I lived but 200 Feet from it's shore. Sure I played near it, and on it (homemade boats, and rafts), but not much in it. It was clearly not pure water. Kid's aren't really all that stupid. Of course at some point I heard it was the waste recepticle of all the area treatment plants. It was just not all that inviting, you might say. Across the bridge was the older river neighborhood. A bunch of cabins and refurbished shacks. And of course beyond that was a hill, that you had to have your energy up for. It wasn't "The Hill" by the way. "The Hill" was what the road beyond "The Falls" was. That was quite a hill!! When it was icy in winter, it was just for sledding. You came around the back or you just climbed it. If you had the stamina to really go all the way to the top, you had a true ten to fifteen minute ride. Almost a whole 1/2 mile of sledding! The last bit was a bit tricky. Many a kid had a tale about biting it in the last turn of "The Hill". Some went through barb wire fences. Some jumped immense ditches and ended face first in the opposite bank. The key was to get the most speed without losing complete controll. By the way, this is only possible in the traditional sled. Tubing and paning resulted in shorter and more stop and start reentries. With the sled, in control, you could ride the whole thing out, on your belly, till the end. Now it is true that you could steer with your feet, but that was really less control than being just inches above the road. The third border was the road that ran parallel to Shoal Creek. This road was almost entirely uphill for a mile or so. And a lot of blind hills at that. It was really too far. Parents were nervous enough about my occasional treks to the Falls. I assured them that I took the dirt paths along the way. Mostly I did take the dirt road. But the road in the other direction was a different story. On one side the shoulder disappeared entirely and the drop off was intense. Up this way lay "Mother Nature's Crack". I don't know who first coined the term, but it is not my term. It is the term of the area. At least two generations know of this location as "Mother Nature's Crack". Despite the vulgar subtleties of this name, it was an accepted term by one and all. "Mother Nature's Crack" was also applied to an area right across the creek as well. I still believe the true "Crack" is on the west side. It certainly is the biggest crack. Basically we are talking about a large bluff of rock with a crack in it that allows you to climb up or down. It is actually quite strange the first time you descend into the crack. As you descend the ground becomes level with your head, until you are simply swallowed up by the crack. It is also a tight squeeze at times, so it feels somewhat intimate. Beyond the Good Mother's Crack lay more uphill riding. There is also the orgasmic final drop off point. But it is so extreme that the trip back is even more difficult. Along this route, one comes to "The Castle". "The Castle" was actually a castle. It was built out of local rock. So it was really pretty ugly. Even so, it was a castle and it had the same omnious legends surrounding it. The story was that a old lady lived there by herself. Her husband had died many years ago and she had since become rather unfond of humanity. It was because of this misanthropy that she kept two large Dobermans on the premises to keep out all tresspassers. That is of course, if you got past the iron gate. I never went beyond the gate. Honestly I was nervous just going to the gate. Such were the adventures that I had on my bike. After living in Grand Falls Plaza for five years, my family moved to a more remote locale. Then it was the mini-bike. Everyday after school I was on that thing. Living out in the country made the bike less credible as a thing of enjoyment. A bike on a crappy farm road made from creek gravel was more like work than play. In fact, even on the mini bike it wasn't all that great either. I always had white knuckles after the tense five minute ride. Gravel is unpleasant all the way around. It is either a grinding dirt wave that makes you feel that you are somehow going against a current, or it is a moving balance beam that must be carefully navigated. Even so, the mini bike could take me quicker and farther. It was still a physical activity to ride a mini-bike. Hell, I walked mine many miles over the years. Compare the notion of walking a bike for a mile that weighs roughly 15 pounds, and lugging a mini bike that weighed about 75 pounds around. Up hills, and thankly, down hills. Man,... you talk about an early course in anger managment. One minute you are buzzing by, feeling like the coolest kid in the world. Peolple wave and you wave and gun the engine. You're off and then the engine floods. But I sometimes didn't zip off as planned. Sometimes, I would just flood it and choke. If there was a hill I could just pop the clutch and almost suavely regain composure. If there wasn't a hill...well it wasn't pretty. End of cool beginning of embarassment. Sometimes pushing a fast as I can to, jump on, and pop the clutch. Many times just walking it down the street, passing past glory; in retreat. After the mini bike years came the car. Of course with the car you could go to a lot more places. You could haul people around. You could haul stuff around. And, well, the car is just so cool. In Joplin you don't see a lot of bikes. Cars are where it's at. You quickly forget about the hidden treasures of biking. The connection you have to the area. The places and people you notice when you are not locked up in metal isolation. You are easily wooed by the power of quick distances. But with quick distances come quicker comings and goings. Life speeds up. It feels so good going at a faster pace that you hardly notice that you don't have time for much of anything. Cars cost money. Money means a job. Job means you need a car, or you waste a lot of time coming and going to work. It becomes a vicious cycle. I'm not down on cars by the way. But cars bring a blessing and a curse. Time starts to become a master in the modern world. I asked my roommate to lend me one of his many bikes. He did. I have been biking around Portland. I have discovered a different city than I had known before. I see houses that I somehow missed before. I can go places that are a hassle in a car. I can ride along the river front. I can say hi to people. I can stop and stare without getting honked at. I think I'm going to buy a bike. Also I would like to say that next Fourth of July I'm on the bike for sure. Screw cars. I can ride from one family or block fireworks display to the next. I can watch the big downtown explosion up close without worrying about parking. So if anyone wants to come here on the fourth, that is the plan. Most of this story was set in the place where I spent most of my childhood. The house behind me was the Tallman's house. the Tallman's were actually quite tall. They had a boy named Randy that was in my grade. Randy wasn't allowed to play as much as some of the other kids. Randy was a little strange as well. For Halloween our Fifth Grade year, Randy dressed as a geisha girl. He was the only boy that I knew that dressed as a girl for Halloween. When we were in third grade Randy and I played together occasionally. One of his favorite games involved us pulling down our pants and making butt impressions in his sandbox. I don't remember what kind of game it was.