The idea was simple. The plan seemed flawless. But…
I was young and mostly unattached. At the time I worked for an establishment that was affiliated with a church of Scots origin. My workplace had decided to give us all an (unpaid) break for Christmas. But what the heck, it was time off!
The calendar put Christmas on a Friday, that year. The way my shift worked, I would have 10 whole days away from work. It seemed like a good time to do some Winter touring, stretch the legs, and re-connect with old friends.
I figured I could use the Greyhound Bus, in conjunction with my bike to accomplish all of this. I bought a ticket, one way, from the mountains of Virginia to the Big City Up North. I used my spare time in the last work week to prepare. I prepped the bike carefully, and made thoughtful selections of clothing and gear to pack in my panniers. On the last workday, I rode the loaded bike to work. At the end of the day I saddled up and pedalled over to the Greyhound terminal.
There was a little grumbling about my calling the bike “luggage,” but in the end they agreed, and then tossed it, rather uncermoniously, into the big bus’s baggage holds. A long night on the bus followed. This was a “local” trip, which meant the monster vheicle wandered all over the place in semi-rural northern Virginia, a lot of Maryland, a bit of Pennsylvania, some of Delaware, and even a touch of New Jersey. It felt like we stopped about every 15 minutes, and the trip took about 10 hours.
In the cold grey light of a Winter Morning, I de-bussed and waited to claim my bike. I was a bit dismayed to see the handlers pulling a stack of crates and a lot of suitcasess off of the top of my bike, before dragging it out of the hold.
I had to make some adjustments, but my trusty steed seemed to work okay. Of course there was a bit of brake drag on the rear. A dismount and check showed that the rear wheel was out of true. I opened the brake up a good bit, and continued to ride. That night, staying at a good friend’s house, I pulled out my spoke wrench and did a “field expedient” truing job on the wheel.
I had a good visit of several days. I spent time with old friends and some family folk I hadn’t seen in a long while. Good cheer and a couple of epic parties, and it was time to hit the road for the long ride back.
I intended to make a couple more overnight stops with friends who lived (more or less) along my route. During that first riding day, I got the early intimation of trouble ahead. The rear wheel seemed to be drifitng out of true again. By lunchtime, it was bad enough that I unloaded the bike, inverted it, and again applied myself to the task of bringing the wheel right.
In the middle of the afternoon, my rear tire went flat. Dramatically. It blew off of the rim, and the tube blew. I repaired it quickly, and continued through the day. But the wheel was going out of true again.
On ride day two, I made about 70 of my intended 110 miles before I had a real problem. The rear wheel collapsed. The rest of the day was a long hassle. I managed to catch rides with two different pickup drivers. That got me close enough to my intended overnight stop. I was able to call for a ride and get picked up.
Need I say that, at that time, bike shops were few and far between? Getting a new wheel was going to be a problem. I called my home shop, which was only about 180 miles away. “No problem,” my friends said, “We’ll ship you a new one. Jimbo can take it over to the Greyhound station right now.”
The wheel arrived late in the day. It was taccoed beyond belief. Greyhound was unsympathetic. Another phone call. Another new wheel would be shipped immediately, and this one would be boxed.
The second new wheel arrived in the early morning. It was intact and straight, but…
The new wheel did not have a freewheel installed. I had no freewheel tool. After a few moments of panic, I hit on a plan. I would unlace the hub from my ruined wheel, and lace it into the new one. That task, performed on a porch, took way too long. I had to go inside repeatedly to warm my hands. All in all, I lost the day. Once I (finally) finished fighting with the wheel, and reassembling the bike, it was too late to travel.
On the next day I made about 60 mountainous miles before the new wheel failed. Time to reasses.
I arranged to leave the bike with a friendly auto service garage owner. I had no funds for travelling, so I shouldered my panniers and started walking, sticking my thumb out at any appropriate time. The clouds were lowering as I progressed (slowly) toward home.
It was raining pretty good by the time I caught my last ride. That one got me to within five miles of home. It was late, dark, and mostly rural. Rides were out of the question. I walked the last five miles in sodden and chilly determination.
Late, late in on December 23rd, I arrived at the house, to find it dark. And cold. There was a note from my reprobate roommate. He informed me that he was going to visit some of his friends for Christmas. He added that there was no food in the house. He meant it. A cockroach would have starved in there. What my (soon to be ex) roomie did not mention was that he had left the heat turned up to about 150 degrees. There had been less than 75 gallons in the oil tank when I’d left. I built a fire in the hearth, and settled down in sleeping bag.
The next day I made some calls. I had next to no money, and no credit with the oil company. Besides, they weren’t delivering on Christmas Eve.
There is this about living in a small rural town. Nothing goes unnoticed. My two neighbors (one on each side) had seen the lights out for a couple of days, noted my arrival, and seen the smoke from the chimney. They drew the appropriate conclucions, and the jungle telegraph started to work.
About noon, two good friends rolled up on their bikes. They had gifts with them, sufficient parts to get my other bike running. Around noon, my boss dropped by. He had a five gallon jerry can of gas in his truck, so I would have some fuel to get the beater car going, and he handed me an envelope from the congregation. There was $50.00 dollars in it.
Friends continued to drop by, with food! And late in the day, an oil truck pulled up. The driver said the load was paid for, but he could only put in 100 gallons. He refused to tell me who had made the payment, and managed to get him out on Christmas Eve.
Dinner arrived, in the form of a lot of friends bearing many different plates and dishes. Someone brought a tree. We popped corn, and strung it. Somebody brought a couple of light strings.
At ten o’clock, those of us on bikes mounted them, and we formed a procession. We rode and drove over to the church for the Midnight Service. After church we all regathered at my place and sang old songs, new ones, and Christmas Carols.
There have been many holidays since, some more memorable than others. Some have been extraordinary, most very good indeed. That was one of the best.
Merry Christmas to you all, and God bless us, each and every one.
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