I peddled the 30 miles from my family’s suburban home in Newberg to my girlfriend’s front door in my old, North East Portland neighborhood.
It was a sunny, 1967 summer day, perfect for this adventure. I kept to secondary roads as much as possible to avoid high speed or high-volume traffic. Except for my bike chain coming off a couple of times, the ride was enjoyable.
It was a significant accomplishment I thought, for a fifteen-year-old on a ten-speed bicycle, and a worthy affirmation of love.
My family’s recent move put those miles between us, but today, my girlfriend and I enjoyed each of the 24 sweet hours we shared before she kissed me good-bye and I set out on my return trip.
The sun was just starting to set as I passed through Sherwood; eight more miles and I would be home.
Wearing only my old, ragged cut-offs and a pair of moccasins, the cool, late evening air felt good fanning my skin after the day’s heat.
It was beginning to get dark as I started down Rex Hill’s steep, mile-long slope. I shifted into tenth gear and got the pedals going so fast that my feet couldn’t keep up with them.
The bicycle tires were spinning at such a speed, they made a strange hum I had never heard. I’d never gone so fast on a bike!
Coasting down the hill, I rested my fingers across the top of the ram’s horns handlebars and relaxed as the swiftness of my flight through the twilight air swept away the sweat from my body.
I could feel how the gyro force of the spinning wheels gently resisted any steering effort as I raced through the dusk.
In the murkiness ahead, I noticed a black shadow on the pavement directly in my path. It was about the size of half a basketball.
At this speed – before the message to turn could get from my mind to my arms, I hit that road-side rock and was immediately riding a 50(?) mile-an-hour wheelie.
Clenching the bike seat between my legs, my empty hands reaching out ahead of me, my feet dangling and the handlebars up in front of my face – I knew I was doomed.
Time stopped for an instant. I didn’t hear a sound. I forgot to breathe as I balanced on one wheel at what felt like the speed of light.
In that fraction of a second, I wondered how much skin I’d lose to the pavement before scraping to a stop, when finally wadding up and hitting the street. And would I then be able to crawl out of the traffic lane before getting run over by a car or truck?
Time resumed and the front of the bike began to drop back to the ground. I knew my only chance of remaining upright was to somehow grab the handlebars and straighten the wheel before it touched down.
In one desperate move, I found that familiar grip just before the wheel hit the blacktop. The bike swerved a hard left and then right as I struggled to remain vertical.
I was suddenly aware of my heart pounding harder than ever in my life.
I gently squeezed those vertical brake handles and slowed to a stop. I got off and walked the bike along the shoulder of the road until my body stopped shaking from adrenaline.
I made it home that night, alive and unharmed; and maybe a little wiser. It was a significant accomplishment I thought, for a fifteen-year-old on a ten-speed bicycle – attempting to set a Rex Hill land speed record.