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The Early Years
It all started with the Tyke Bike...John Stichnoth ruined most of his shoes racing on sidewalks with his brother, who
was riding the big green worm. Next came the tricycle with real pedals. It was still a bright red trike, even after 2 other
siblings had ridden it. And in fact, it is still in the basement - probably a Huffy, but the name plate has long since been
painted over. From there, he progressed to the bigger tricycle which is now in bike heaven after its wheels lost their
rubber and it got quite rusty in the barn.
'Course, there was the first bike with training wheels - again, already used by 2 siblings. Then there was the day that
the training wheels were raised. We raced along with him, holding the seat until John could keep the handlebars
steady, then pretending to hold the seat, then (with much panting from all that running) letting go and giving him his
solo ride, then watching him throw a tantrum because he couldn't steer and hit the barn, then encouraging him to try
again. (Well, that is, after applying the bandaid!)
When he was about 7 or 8, he actually got a bike that hadn't been ridden by someone else. A few days after his
birthday, he rode it in the bean field behind the house. There was a slight hill back there and he would disappear from
sight. That evening, I was going to attend a special concert and was ready to leave. It was almost dark.
John was still out with that new bike and had been gone longer than expected. We hollered and hollered and finally
came this high-pitched yell from behind the house. Here was John, pushing the bike with all his strength. The tires
were completely full of that muddy, sticky black clay and would barely move. I made him leave the bike and later his
dad carried it back to the house and hosed it off. I asked him why he tried to push that thing back to the house
and he informed me that he couldn't leave his new bike in the field. (Like anyone would steal it when it was a mile
from the road and completely full of mud!) Needless to say, I missed the concert - but John was still alive and that was
more important than the concert.
When John was in grade school, I watched him from the kitchen window. He had a little dirt bike (pedal version) and
raced around the barn lot. He set up various ramps and bumps and things to make it more interesting. I always
thought that if we could somehow capture that energy and use it for something productive...
The Middle Years
Now about this motorcycle business...yes, I did ride the Cushman with his father when we were dating. Mostly, it was
an excuse to hug without seeming like PDA (public display of affection). If I peered around him to see where we were
going, my contacts were full of dust and sometimes I inhaled insects. My hair, which had been carefully
groomed, was flying wild - certainly no one wore helmets so “helmet-head” wasn't a problem. One time we even rode
30 miles to his grandparents' farm in Indiana. When we returned, his mother was rather astonished that we had
ridden the “scooter” that far. And when I got back to my grandma's (where I was visiting), I found that she had been
extremely worried because I hadn't told her I would be gone that long. After we were married, we
occasionally took a ride on it. By that time, the dog had chewed up the passenger seat, and I had to sit on a small
inflated inner tube (from some little tire) that was tied on.
In the mid-60s, my brother borrowed the Cushman one summer to use as transportation to and from work. He either
wasn't told, or forgot to check the oil. My dad then bought a new engine for it. When my other 2 brothers visited, they
had fun riding it. John saw my youngest brother (only 10 years older than John) working hard to learn
to start it. Later he saw his own brother spend hours and hours trying to jump on that pedal thing. And finally, when
he was strong enough, he was given the same opportunity. That was the rule - you couldn't ride it alone unless you
were big enough and strong enough to jump with all your might on the kick-starter. Other rules included wearing long
pants and wearing a helmet! At first, they could only ride on the grass in the barn lot. Later they could ride on the
road in front of the house - from one stop sign to the other. I'm not sure of the rest of the rules because by then I
was a nervous wreck over motorcycling and left the rules up to their father.
The Next Years
John subscribed to several motorcycle magazines. He was always dreaming about motorcycles and racing. He spent a
lot of hours riding around the countryside - and always managed to arrive back home safely. When he went to college,
we had to haul his stuff in a large van, plus a pickup truck. In addition to the usual clothes and big stereo speakers,
he had to take the motorcycle!
For the most part, John has had a good safety record. I haven't always been happy about his choice of vacations - like
riding alone in the desolate areas of upper Michigan. But, I figured that he was all grown up and on his own. Then he
called one night and told me that he had broken his foot, some people had stopped to help him – took him to the
emergency room, then to see an orthopedic doctor many miles away, then made sure he was settled in a motel for
the night. He drove to our home (8 hours) the next day. sigh.
These days, the main thing that bothers me about the motorcycles is his coordinating of colors. I thought that the
orange motorcycle was a bad choice since it had to be carried around in the bed of a red pickup truck. The green
motorcycle is a better choice with the red pickup, but his racing outfits don't carry through with that “green theme.” I
still haven't had the nerve to watch him race, but I've seen pictures. Now his dreams have come true and he looks just
like those pictures in his motorcycle magazines!
It all started with the Tyke Bike...John Stichnoth ruined most of his shoes racing on sidewalks with his brother, who
was riding the big green worm. Next came the tricycle with real pedals. It was still a bright red trike, even after 2 other
siblings had ridden it. And in fact, it is still in the basement - probably a Huffy, but the name plate has long since been
painted over. From there, he progressed to the bigger tricycle which is now in bike heaven after its wheels lost their
rubber and it got quite rusty in the barn.
'Course, there was the first bike with training wheels - again, already used by 2 siblings. Then there was the day that
the training wheels were raised. We raced along with him, holding the seat until John could keep the handlebars
steady, then pretending to hold the seat, then (with much panting from all that running) letting go and giving him his
solo ride, then watching him throw a tantrum because he couldn't steer and hit the barn, then encouraging him to try
again. (Well, that is, after applying the bandaid!)
When he was about 7 or 8, he actually got a bike that hadn't been ridden by someone else. A few days after his
birthday, he rode it in the bean field behind the house. There was a slight hill back there and he would disappear from
sight. That evening, I was going to attend a special concert and was ready to leave. It was almost dark.
John was still out with that new bike and had been gone longer than expected. We hollered and hollered and finally
came this high-pitched yell from behind the house. Here was John, pushing the bike with all his strength. The tires
were completely full of that muddy, sticky black clay and would barely move. I made him leave the bike and later his
dad carried it back to the house and hosed it off. I asked him why he tried to push that thing back to the house
and he informed me that he couldn't leave his new bike in the field. (Like anyone would steal it when it was a mile
from the road and completely full of mud!) Needless to say, I missed the concert - but John was still alive and that was
more important than the concert.
When John was in grade school, I watched him from the kitchen window. He had a little dirt bike (pedal version) and
raced around the barn lot. He set up various ramps and bumps and things to make it more interesting. I always
thought that if we could somehow capture that energy and use it for something productive...
The Middle Years
Now about this motorcycle business...yes, I did ride the Cushman with his father when we were dating. Mostly, it was
an excuse to hug without seeming like PDA (public display of affection). If I peered around him to see where we were
going, my contacts were full of dust and sometimes I inhaled insects. My hair, which had been carefully
groomed, was flying wild - certainly no one wore helmets so “helmet-head” wasn't a problem. One time we even rode
30 miles to his grandparents' farm in Indiana. When we returned, his mother was rather astonished that we had
ridden the “scooter” that far. And when I got back to my grandma's (where I was visiting), I found that she had been
extremely worried because I hadn't told her I would be gone that long. After we were married, we
occasionally took a ride on it. By that time, the dog had chewed up the passenger seat, and I had to sit on a small
inflated inner tube (from some little tire) that was tied on.
In the mid-60s, my brother borrowed the Cushman one summer to use as transportation to and from work. He either
wasn't told, or forgot to check the oil. My dad then bought a new engine for it. When my other 2 brothers visited, they
had fun riding it. John saw my youngest brother (only 10 years older than John) working hard to learn
to start it. Later he saw his own brother spend hours and hours trying to jump on that pedal thing. And finally, when
he was strong enough, he was given the same opportunity. That was the rule - you couldn't ride it alone unless you
were big enough and strong enough to jump with all your might on the kick-starter. Other rules included wearing long
pants and wearing a helmet! At first, they could only ride on the grass in the barn lot. Later they could ride on the
road in front of the house - from one stop sign to the other. I'm not sure of the rest of the rules because by then I
was a nervous wreck over motorcycling and left the rules up to their father.
The Next Years
John subscribed to several motorcycle magazines. He was always dreaming about motorcycles and racing. He spent a
lot of hours riding around the countryside - and always managed to arrive back home safely. When he went to college,
we had to haul his stuff in a large van, plus a pickup truck. In addition to the usual clothes and big stereo speakers,
he had to take the motorcycle!
For the most part, John has had a good safety record. I haven't always been happy about his choice of vacations - like
riding alone in the desolate areas of upper Michigan. But, I figured that he was all grown up and on his own. Then he
called one night and told me that he had broken his foot, some people had stopped to help him – took him to the
emergency room, then to see an orthopedic doctor many miles away, then made sure he was settled in a motel for
the night. He drove to our home (8 hours) the next day. sigh.
These days, the main thing that bothers me about the motorcycles is his coordinating of colors. I thought that the
orange motorcycle was a bad choice since it had to be carried around in the bed of a red pickup truck. The green
motorcycle is a better choice with the red pickup, but his racing outfits don't carry through with that “green theme.” I
still haven't had the nerve to watch him race, but I've seen pictures. Now his dreams have come true and he looks just
like those pictures in his motorcycle magazines!
| Mom says.... |
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