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!
Mom says....
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