| Date: | Tue, 25 Apr 2000 20:40:35 |
| Subject: | Memories |
| From: | Cap'n Tom Miller |
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I write a weekly column for the local newspaper:
Column 38 for April 30, 2000
It’s springtime and a young man’s (maybe an old man’s too?) fancy might
turn to riding the fresh, open roads on a motor powered two-wheeler.
The wind in your face, the incredible view, the aroma of every field, or
perhaps every chicken-coop you ride by. The feeling of freedom, the
oneness with your environment. The almost orgasmic excitement. Nothing
(well, almost nothing…) matches it!
I remember my first “powered” two-wheeler. A 1947 Cushman “box”
motorscooter, purchased in 1964 for 50 or 60 hard earned dollars. A
classic now. Durn, the thing was ugly. It was an American motorscooter
though and through. None of that sexy European “Vespa” styling! I was
not only proud, but excited too. At seventeen, you are ten feet tall
and bulletproof. I had my own wheels! The Cushman was designed with a
wrap-around bumper, foot pedals for the clutch and brake, and a humongus
trunk, that allowed me to carry several 12 inch LP record albums and a
couple quarts of oil to boot! Powered by what I would describe as a
vertical stroke “lawnmower” engine, my top speed was maybe (I might be
optimistic here…) 30 miles per hour or so. The two-speed transmission,
clutch use optional, was shifted by a lever below the seat. Back then
we referred to it as a “tugboat” transmission. It made no difference in
speed, only sound. I’ll get back to sound later… My poor scooter's
death knell.
There were two “rides” on my Cushman I’ll never forget. Living on a
cul-de-sac at the end of a residential street was nice. Well, it was
nice until one day, flat out full speed, I headed for home. As I neared
the house I released the throttle. Nothing changed. The linkage was
stuck, wide open. I quickly chose the lesser of evils and decided to
try to make the turn into my driveway. I forgot what my other option
was… Anyway, as I crossed the driveway apron I met the concrete rise
into the front yard. I never wanted to be an Airborne Ranger, but on
that afternoon, I was flying high! Scooter parts, record albums, young
not yet “Captain” Tom, and quarts of oil went flying! Luckily, nothing
was damaged beyond repair. Back in the 60’s steel was steel, and my
much younger bones were a wee bit more flexible! I’m not sure I ever
told my Dad about that. Good thing I guess.
My next big adventure on the scooter was with my younger brother, Tim.
Having such a machine as the Cushman I’m sure made him jealous. He
wanted a piece of the action. Let’s see, he must have been 13 then. We
had one of those red wagons, what were they, “Radio Flyers” or something
like that? We came up with the idea that it would really be neat if we
were to tie a rope between the scooter and the wagon, and he could ride
along behind me. As I tied the rope, leaving about 20 feet between the
scooter and wagon, Tim got dressed for the ride. Remember this is
before the age of helmet use, but Tim cautiously thought he should wear
his football helmet. He also donned elbow and kneepads, and came out
for the trial run. It really started out nicely. As I continued to
glance rearward, I noticed the wagon, and Tim, begin to make large
“esses” in the street. Wider and wider he went, reminding me of those
folks that play “crack-the-whip” while roller-skating. As he was
hollering for me to slow down, he began to use his feet as
“outriggers.” We did get slowed down, and upon stopping, Tim showed me
his tennis shoes. Worn through to the skin beneath. As I recall, he
never asked for another ride.
The end for my Cushman came sadly. I knew it was “just” a scooter, but
I was envious of the sounds that the big Harley-Davidson motorcycles
made. I searched for solutions, and decided that I would remove the
muffler and replace it with a section of vacuum cleaner hose that I
found in the garage. As I was making yet another “high speed” run down
our street, sounding for the first time like a real motorcycle,
everything came apart, and quickly. The piston rod broke and bent the
camshaft almost double. No crash, thank goodness, but my “ride” would
never recover.
Hmm… I wonder what it would be like to have a scooter again. It is
springtime.
Until next time, remember that the Lottery is just another form of tax
for those people who are bad at math. See ya. tomiswho@mindspring.com
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