As I was growing up in Bergton, I spent a lot of time on my bicycle. If I became bored in the summer when school was out, I’d just jump on the old bike and take a ride. I knew better than to complain about my boredom, or I would end up digging thistles, picking rocks, or pulling weeds in the garden.
Of course, you can’t just jump on a bike and take off without learning to ride. And it goes without saying that if you can’t ride a bike, you probably don’t own a bicycle. That being the case, you need to know someone well enough to let you demolish their bike during the learning process. We didn’t have training wheels and helmets back then. My simple instructions were to “turn the front wheel in the direction you are going to fall”, and “get up and do it again, you went a little farther that time”. A big yard with a slight grade and a deep cushion of grass works the best for the learning process. My problem was my affinity for one particular rosebush. No matter where I started or what direction I pointed the bicycle, I ended up in that infernal rosebush! You’ve heard of GPS taking drivers into lakes, airport runways, over cliffs, etc? My bicycle apparently had one that said “rosebush”!
After you get the hang of riding a bike, the sky’s the limit. Most of my riding circuits were within about a quarter mile of the house, but it wouldn’t be unusual to get the urge for a longer adventure. Occasionally, we might take a several-mile ride back through WV, and for a while, I had a yard to mow near the Bergton fairgrounds. Traffic wasn’t bad back then, but you still had to be careful around blind curves. There were a lot of blind curves.
As a youngster, you tend to feel invincible, and that can lead to overconfidence. You don’t ride a bike very long until you discover that the steeper the hill, the faster you can go and the more fun to be had. There were a few hills on the main hardtop road, but they soon lost their thrill, unless a car was coming. However, there were a few dirt lanes with a lot less traffic. One of the best was a half-mile lane that went to the Moyers’ home place near the foot of Fallbush Mountain. You had to climb a steep hill where you first turned off the hardtop at the cemetery, but the rest of the way was a more gradual incline. It made for a long, fast ride on the way out, but you had to be sure to slow down well before you got to the main road. Chances are you wouldn’t get hit by a car, but there was a sheer drop-off on the other side. Bicycle brakes don’t work the best in gravel.
We didn’t do it very often because it was hard work getting to the starting point at the end of the lane, but one day, three of us decided to make the effort up the hollow. The “need for speed” must have overtaken lazy summer boredom. Pedaling as much as possible and pushing the bikes when necessary, we made it to the top of the long lane. After a few minutes of rest, we started down the bumpy dirt road. It didn’t take long to build up speed. The three of us were not really officially racing, but with the wind whistling in my ears and the breeze feeling good on a hot summer day, somehow I ended up in front. It was exhilarating.
Suddenly, things took a turn for the worse. I don’t know what happened, probably a tire blowout, but on a slight turn, I found myself flying over the handlebars and sliding on my bare elbows in the middle of the dirt road. After the skid, I was pretty shaken up, but no bones were broken. My buddies were right behind me and helped me get squared away as we assessed the damage to the bike. The handlebars were twisted out of line, the wheel had to be pried away from the front fork, and the tire was flat.
Now for the long walk home, pushing a bike with a flat tire and a bent front wheel. For some reason, when we got home, we tried to act like nothing happened, so we didn’t get in trouble. That lasted about 2 minutes. It’s hard to hide a busted up bicycle, torn blue jeans, and majorly skinned elbows. I don’t know which was worse, the soap and water scrub to get the dirt and grit out of my wounded elbows or the generous application of alcohol to prevent infection.
I healed, but the bike was never quite the same.
R.D. Cullers
Graduate of Bergton Elementary (Class of ’65)
