Since my father purchased my first bike for me as a birthday gift when I was a kid, I followed suit and did likewise for my children. As a young adult, I often took the entire family camping on weekends. I'd place four bicycles on top of the popup camper's roof, and when we arrived at the campground, the kids would soon be riding their bikes in the campground but stayed off most roads because of the possibility of accidents.
In 1977, single again but broke, I lived in an apartment that was so small the mice were hunchbacked. Part of my rent was paid by my being the building's janitor. Since I gave the family car to the ex-wife in order for her to transport the kids here and there, I used a bicycle for my personal transportation.
Because my children howled that it would be pure torture for them to sleep on the floor in my apartment during my two week vacation, I started thinking about me and what I wanted to do in order to get away from everyone, including my kids. I didn’t want to stay in that teensy apartment alone and deal with my loneliness. So, I started researching bike trails at Waupun's public library. That's when I discovered the Wisconsin Bikeway, a 300-mile mostly rural bicycle route.
It took me thorough Witnall Park in Milwaukee and the outskirts of Racine where a bicycle race track had been built in the 1930's. Believe it or not, I had no problems with big city drivers. Other places I biked through on that first trip included Milton, Genoa City, Monroe, Evansville, New Glarus, and Blue Mounds. I even managed to stick the bike's front tire in Illinois—mainly for bragging rights.
I had purchased a cheap tent for less than thirty bucks and when it rained I got soaked. And if it didn't rain and cooled somewhat after midnight, my snoring breaths produced a rainfall of its own on the ceiling of the tent. I had a sleeping bag along but hardly ever could get inside it because the weather was stifling hot and when it did cool off at night, I just placed the sleeping bag on top of me. I had no pad to soften the space between the ground and me.
Since I didn't have much money, I bought a lot of sardine tins and stuffed them in my backpack. Once in a while I'd stop at a country tavern and treat myself to a beer. I bought a lot of peanuts on the trip. And more than a few bags of chocolate chip cookies.
I did many things wrong. I carried everything in a back pack except for the tent and sleeping bag. That heavy backpack affected my center of gravity, causing the bike to undergo temporary shuddering spasms. Also, I used the most difficult gears since I thought that was the thing to do. Thus, when I was in the hilly country around New Glarus and Blue Mounds, I had an attack of shin splints, or tibia stress. The pain struck vehemently, and I was forced to get off the bike every few hundred yards. It was less painful to walk but a lot slower. Whenever I did get back on the bike, the pain soon became unmanageable, and it was back to walking.
When I made it up the huge hill to Blue Mounds state park, I decided to stay there and rest. I'd been advised relaxation was the required antidote for shin splints. The park had a nice swimming pool and since I had taken along a couple of novels and enough sardine tins to last me at least three days, that's how long I intended to remain at the park.
Early morning on the fourth day I arose, rolled up the tent and sleeping bag and using bungee cords, strapped them on the center of the rear bike rack, put on my back pack, mounted the bike, and started down the steep Blue Mounds hill. No pain in the shins, thankfully, but I hadn't been forewarned that a road crew had been working on a curve halfway down the hill. When I reached the area on which the road crew had been working, I saw nothing but gravel. I knew I was going too fast. Once the wheels hit gravel, they literally slid sideways. The bike, backpack, and I went down, my chin meeting the roadway.
When I was finally able to stand, I discovered my mouth was filled with gravel. However, the grit turned out to be fragments of what used to be a front tooth. I spat out what I could and discovered at least one tooth was entirely missing. I was bleeding elsewhere, legs, elbows, and arms.
The bike's front wheel was bent at an awkward angle. I removed the wheel from the fork and stood on the wheel's edges, jumping up and down in an attempt to straighten it. Although it wasn't as straight as it was before the accident, I managed to put the wheel back on and secured it. Next, I rode to the first house below the hill and knocked on the back door.
When a young mother holding a child in her arms opened the door, I told her I needed help. "Get the hell out of here," she yelled and slammed the door shut. With all that road rash, I must've been quite a sight.
I then rode the rest of the way to the town of Blue Mounds where a gas station owner hauled me and my bike in his pickup truck to University Hospitals in Madison, twenty some miles away, where I was stitched up and sent to a dentist.
In 1977, single again but broke, I lived in an apartment that was so small the mice were hunchbacked. Part of my rent was paid by my being the building's janitor. Since I gave the family car to the ex-wife in order for her to transport the kids here and there, I used a bicycle for my personal transportation.
Because my children howled that it would be pure torture for them to sleep on the floor in my apartment during my two week vacation, I started thinking about me and what I wanted to do in order to get away from everyone, including my kids. I didn’t want to stay in that teensy apartment alone and deal with my loneliness. So, I started researching bike trails at Waupun's public library. That's when I discovered the Wisconsin Bikeway, a 300-mile mostly rural bicycle route.
It took me thorough Witnall Park in Milwaukee and the outskirts of Racine where a bicycle race track had been built in the 1930's. Believe it or not, I had no problems with big city drivers. Other places I biked through on that first trip included Milton, Genoa City, Monroe, Evansville, New Glarus, and Blue Mounds. I even managed to stick the bike's front tire in Illinois—mainly for bragging rights.
I had purchased a cheap tent for less than thirty bucks and when it rained I got soaked. And if it didn't rain and cooled somewhat after midnight, my snoring breaths produced a rainfall of its own on the ceiling of the tent. I had a sleeping bag along but hardly ever could get inside it because the weather was stifling hot and when it did cool off at night, I just placed the sleeping bag on top of me. I had no pad to soften the space between the ground and me.
Since I didn't have much money, I bought a lot of sardine tins and stuffed them in my backpack. Once in a while I'd stop at a country tavern and treat myself to a beer. I bought a lot of peanuts on the trip. And more than a few bags of chocolate chip cookies.
I did many things wrong. I carried everything in a back pack except for the tent and sleeping bag. That heavy backpack affected my center of gravity, causing the bike to undergo temporary shuddering spasms. Also, I used the most difficult gears since I thought that was the thing to do. Thus, when I was in the hilly country around New Glarus and Blue Mounds, I had an attack of shin splints, or tibia stress. The pain struck vehemently, and I was forced to get off the bike every few hundred yards. It was less painful to walk but a lot slower. Whenever I did get back on the bike, the pain soon became unmanageable, and it was back to walking.
When I made it up the huge hill to Blue Mounds state park, I decided to stay there and rest. I'd been advised relaxation was the required antidote for shin splints. The park had a nice swimming pool and since I had taken along a couple of novels and enough sardine tins to last me at least three days, that's how long I intended to remain at the park.
Early morning on the fourth day I arose, rolled up the tent and sleeping bag and using bungee cords, strapped them on the center of the rear bike rack, put on my back pack, mounted the bike, and started down the steep Blue Mounds hill. No pain in the shins, thankfully, but I hadn't been forewarned that a road crew had been working on a curve halfway down the hill. When I reached the area on which the road crew had been working, I saw nothing but gravel. I knew I was going too fast. Once the wheels hit gravel, they literally slid sideways. The bike, backpack, and I went down, my chin meeting the roadway.
When I was finally able to stand, I discovered my mouth was filled with gravel. However, the grit turned out to be fragments of what used to be a front tooth. I spat out what I could and discovered at least one tooth was entirely missing. I was bleeding elsewhere, legs, elbows, and arms.
The bike's front wheel was bent at an awkward angle. I removed the wheel from the fork and stood on the wheel's edges, jumping up and down in an attempt to straighten it. Although it wasn't as straight as it was before the accident, I managed to put the wheel back on and secured it. Next, I rode to the first house below the hill and knocked on the back door.
When a young mother holding a child in her arms opened the door, I told her I needed help. "Get the hell out of here," she yelled and slammed the door shut. With all that road rash, I must've been quite a sight.
I then rode the rest of the way to the town of Blue Mounds where a gas station owner hauled me and my bike in his pickup truck to University Hospitals in Madison, twenty some miles away, where I was stitched up and sent to a dentist.
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