Tips to make your community bike

ARRESTED FOR HAVING TOO MUCH FUN!

By Frosty Wooldridge

“When something becomes too much fun, the government will move swiftly

to tax it.” Disgruntled Taxpayer

Outside Vicksburg, Mississippi, on Route 80, my brother Howard and I cranked east through the afternoon heat. Sweat dripped from our noses and splashed onto the top tubes. It ran down our spines in tiny rivulets. It burned our eyes from beads running down our foreheads. Salt stained our black riding tights like the colors of a Zebra.

Howard and I pedaled through the last month of a coast-to-coast bicycle adventure across America. San Francisco, California to Savannah, Georgia! Our legs glistened with sweat as our muscles labored under the constant down-stroke on the pedals.

Up ahead, heat waves rippled off the summer pavement, while a blazing sun baked the weeds along the two-lane highway. Trees lined the road while crows scattered in all directions as we passed. One crow struggled to escape from three sparrows darting in on him. They pecked at his feathers-attempting to drive him away. After each attack, he spun wildly in mid air to avoid them.

“Those guys are giving that big fella’ a hard time,” Howard said, pointing.

“I never have figured out why they attack a crow like that.”

“Sparrows drive them away because crows eat the young of smaller birds,” I said, remembering a natural science class from school. “They’re protecting their nests.”

Howard, dripping in a sweat-soaked T-shirt, cranked ahead of me- pulling up his water bottle and spitting as he took the lead. “We should make Vicksburg pretty soon. You want to stop at a salad bar and clean em out?”

“Good idea!”

Riding in the South during the heat of the summer months could be compared to pedaling in a steam sauna. Heat cooked us and sweat drenched our clothing.

Howard and I left a trail of droplets from our perspiration-soaked bodies. No matter! We looked forward to seeing the Civil War monuments in Vicksburg. We waved at passing cars. Folks moved at a snail’s pace in the Deep South. They defined the term “laid back.”

Southerners got a get a kick out of our riding cross-country through their towns. They took pictures of us-sometimes having family members gather around our bikes.

We pedaled two fully loaded mountain expedition bicycles. Condor, my bike, got his name from