My road rash had an even, almost artistic pattern across my upper body. Knees and hands went without saying. Apparently converse tennis shoes and cutoff shorts don’t qualify as safety gear.
Mom made me stay in the kitchen while she got the Mecurochrome. Now for those of you unfamiliar with Mecurochrome, let me enlighten you. Back in the time when Peter Fonda was “Easy Rider” and all of us kids rode Schwinn’s with banana seats, Mecurochrome was used as a punishment for being stupid. This stuff was so potent it didn’t even come with a dropper, just a little white stick. “Venom” would drip from the end of the stick like a one-fanged rattlesnake. It stung like heck and would stain you red for a month.
The parts for my chopper came from an old bike in my parent’s garage. Quicker than you could say “cool man” or “what a drag,” I had the old bike upside down and was sawing on the front forks with a dull hacksaw. Then I pounded the sawed off forks over my factory forks as extensions. These extended forks transformed my Schwinn into a chopper.
It was cooool. I rode all through the neighborhood on my chopper showing it off. Old Mr. Grogan said he never saw such a thing in his life. Mrs. Nicar told me that I was destined to be an engineer or an astronaut. Boy was she ever prophetic. I wish she had been there on launch day.
It happened about a week after the build. We left the playground at the elementary school to race home for supper. When I hit the speed bump in front of the school my chopper forks and front tire came off causing my original equipment front forks to dig into the asphalt. I was launched like Neil Armstrong from Cape Canaveral. Instead of gently splashing down, I rolled, slid, hopped and skidded until I was laying sunny side up on the center line of the highway. My front tire with chopper forks still attached tinkled a melodious tune as it crossed the highway and rolled down a steep bank.
My career as a bicycle engineer ended when I received my driver’s license. I could tune up my old Jeep faster than Cooter Davenport could say General Lee. Yeeeeee- haw’s could be heard all over the county as I searched for more and more places to test the limits of four-wheel drive. Bo and Luke had nothing on me.
“The Dukes of Hazard” was soon replaced by “The Fall Guy” with Lee Majors. The show had a mean GMC pickup and a gorgeous blonde. I replaced the Jeep with a pickup and began the search for an appropriate co-star. I found her at the beach one July weekend, and she stole the show. Twenty six years later she still has star power and works daily in our remake of “Leave it to Beaver.”
They say that you revert to your second childhood in your later years, but mine has come earlier than expected. Nightly bike rides have become a way of life. My super-duper carbon fiber bike is just like the ones they ride in the “Tour de France.” Mill Mountain can resemble the Alps if you squint real hard, and anybody can buy a yellow jersey off the internet.
About three nights a week our gang of “Old Dogs” gear up and ride the greenways of Roanoke. I’ve learned that Greenway etiquette has its subtleties. When passing a slower rider or jogger you are supposed to say “on your left” which lets them know you are approaching. Some of these folks will give you a little two-fingered wave to let you know they heard you; some only use one as acknowledgement. Good exercise and social interaction at the same time.
My doctor was quite impressed with my new healthy lifestyle. He said that bike riding was one of the best exercises that I could be doing. He also issued an ominous warning. He said, “It’s not a matter of if you’ll wreck, it’s a matter of when you’ll wreck. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again to get your eyelid or ear sewed back on. Make sure to wear your helmet and ride like you’ve got some sense.”
I wasn’t all that worried about it until I asked him what he used to disinfect road rash these days. He said, “Neosporin works really well… but I prefer Mecurochrome.”
By Keith Martin