1956 Schwinn Hornet
Identical to Mine
When we were 12 and between 6th and 7th grade, we moved to Marshfield for my dad's work into a new bungalow on a suburban street a little over a mile to our junior high school through town. I'm not sure what happened to our bicycles, maybe traded them in, but Dad felt we needed new ones to start junior high school with. While I couldn't believe it, I was glad that he was willing to spend the money.
The bicycle shop we went to had a new Schwinn with medium tires, and a new Schwinn with balloon tires that was a year older. For some reason, maybe we flipped a coin, I got the dark green one with medium tires, and Roger got the maroon one. Otherwise, they were identical, with a light on the front fender and a horn with the button and batteries nestled in the tank that gave the bike a nice look. There was also a rack on the back for someone to ride on or to place things that would have to be tied down.
As usual, Dad bargained with that guy and got a package deal. Mine was more expensive than Roger's being the latest model. I believe he paid $100 for the two bikes. Dad was like that, a big spender when he had a good deal.
Those bikes did us yeoman service well into the winter riding the little over a mile on back streets to our junior high school. Halfway, there was a city block park with a band shell that we cut through on the kitty-corner sidewalk. I recall one time that I cut through the park and then cut the corner in front of St. Joseph Catholic Church like I always did. There was a young kid standing right on the corner, the only person in sight.
The kid wasn't moving, just standing there, looking the other way, so I did my usual and cut the corner very close to where he was standing. To my surprise, he suddenly stepped off the curb right in front of me and I ran up his leg almost to the waist as he fell down. I got real concerned about him and asked if he was okay. He jumped up and yelled, "I'm okay," and then ran across the street. I gave a sigh of relief and never saw him again.
It was nearly 3 miles down Central Avenue to the south end of town where the city swimming pool was. We rode our bikes there many times and always stopped about halfway home at a popcorn wagon all decorated in red and gold next to the theater for a bag of 10¢ popcorn. That popcorn sure was good and we tried to emulate it at home using rice popcorn and their secret vegetable oil that gave it its flavor, never adulterated with things like butter, only salt.
Along Central Avenue there was also a Dairy Queen and an A&W Root Beer Stand. The 5¢ root beers came in heavy glass, often scuffed and chipped, mugs that had to be returned. We just couldn't stop to drink the ice cold beverage, hurrying on our way home. And, I always found that eating rapidly melting sticky frozen custard on hot afternoons not very pleasant and hard to eat while riding a bike.
When we were off from school in the summer and weren't working, we would often ride the country roads, some paved, some not, out to the Little Eau Plaine River to fish. It was about 5 miles one way. Another place that we rode to was further, about 7 miles, but we rode those miles with ease, often out running dogs that would come out to chase us.
We had to ride a short, half-mile stretch of Highway 97 and watch out for traffic coming from behind when we rode on the right and had to get off the concrete pavement onto the uncertain gravel shoulder when cars came along. It was on that stretch that there was a pesky little pomeranian that would run out and try to attack us. Generally running out of steam and not even come out on the pavement before returning back to its home.
On one day, it had rained and the highway was wet. I was riding in the lead, Roger following me, and Marvin, a younger neighbor, was following him. The pomeranian, like usual, came fiercely out across the lawn at full speed and reached the pavement. He then began to backpedal, discovering that he had no traction and was heading right for the front of my bike.
I was pedaling fast, trying to outrun the little hellion. Instead, he slid conveniently into my spokes and was swept up by his neck to the first sharp strut on my fender. Fortunately, I had lost the screw or bolt that mounted the top of the fender firmly to the fork and the entire assembly rotated around until the front of my fender hit the pavement and completely stopped me. Roger running into the back of my bike and Marvin running into his--two more jolts to the little guy.
I looked down and saw the little dog's neck twisted grotesquely in the spokes and around the strut. I thought I had broken his neck. But he wiggled vigorously and pulled his neck out, stopping on the pavement for a moment, shaking his head, and then running back to the lawn. I'm sure he was hurt, but he didn't show it as he retreated to safety. Learning a lesson that probably saved him later from being run over by a car.
In spite of setting up obstacle courses in our street's ditch with two by fours, bricks, rocks and other obstacles to run through and over, more suitable for Roger's balloon tires than mine, our bikes both survived hard and heavy use.
When we were 15, we got a job during the Central Wisconsin State Fair working from noon until midnight at the carnival's arcade where people threw nickels onto plates that were tilted slightly to make it more difficult. We made good money, but by the end of the week we were very tired.
Of course, we rode our bikes to the fairgrounds, a good two and a half miles one way. So we came home very late at night with only our headlights and our reflector license plates, most of the way on Central Avenue that was also Highway 97. There was a long hill leading down to our street entrance and I usually picked up a lot of speed. Fortunately, there was very little traffic that late at night, and headlights were easy to see coming up on us.
We were almost at the bottom of the hill on the last night, when I heard a mighty crash behind me and turned around to see what had happened. It seems that Roger had fallen asleep coasting down the hill in the warm night air, and run into the back of a parked car on its rear corner. Luckily, he had only bruised his leg badly, and bent the pedal on the sprocket all the way around that had to be repaired.
I'm sure that Roger paid for the repairs to the car and his bike but I don't know or remember how long it took his leg to heal.
One time in late fall it froze overnight. So we got the idea to go skating before the skating rinks opened for the year on a pond along West City Limits Road. That Saturday morning a classmate, Dick, joined us and we rode the 3 miles out-of-town to get to the pond. The ice was clear and very good skating.
Unfortunately, after about 15 minutes we all got very cold. Not really dressed for the weather that day and there was no convenient warming house like at the city rinks. We immediately took our skates off, put back on our boots, and started peddling back towards home. About halfway into town, the wind in our faces became unbearable and we began to wonder if we were going to make it to Dick's house before getting frostbite.
But there was a farmhouse on the right, so we took a chance and turned in there. The woman of the house immediately saw our plight, and invited us in to eat popcorn and watch cartoons with her kids until Dick's father could get home from work with his pickup and come and get us. By that afternoon, the front that came through dropped the temperature to 10° below zero. I was never so glad to have a pickup bring Roger and me and our bicycles home.
About that time our sister, five years younger than us, got a medium-size girl's bike with training wheels that she quickly got rid of. Recently, she told me that she took the long ride to the south end of town that has all the main street businesses on Central Avenue to the city swimming pool like we did, many times.
But it was on our street one day when she was about 9 or 10, that a car came along and hit her on her bike and threw her in the ditch. Fortunately, she and her bike survived without serious injury or damage. But the driver, accusing her of being the instigator, had to face our Dad. Told the guy that he was speeding and better shut up.
We rode our bikes to high school, about two and a half miles to the west side of town, for the first few days of our sophomore here. But soon decided that it was uncool to ride bicycle in high school and stopped riding. Mom paid a neighbor kid from our class to take us in the morning in his Studebaker convertible, and we walked home along the railroad tracks after football practice in the afternoon that fall and for the rest of high school. Envying those kids who had cars they brought to the parking lot.
After about 30,000 miles of use, I cleaned up my Schwinn and sold it for $25. Roger got less, but was able to sell his, too. I picked up bike riding again during my junior year in college, but that's another story.
Copyright 2019 © Ronald W. Hull
8/9/19
