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Back in the sixties a pair of high school seniors in a rural Louisiana community were musing over what they'd do after graduation. One was rather industrious and had saved money from a rural paper delivery route he'd worked from age twelve. He allowed that he was: "Going to buy a bus ticket and go up north to Pittsburgh and get a job in the steel mills." The other lad was more the "grasshopper" type and hadn't much resource or plan and said he'd just: "Wait and see what came along"...
After graduating the industrious one did indeed buy bus fare and before making his way to Pittsburgh he gave his friend his bicycle for transport around town. Upon arriving in PA he got a job in a mill starting out sweeping floors at the then princely sum of $8 an hour. Immediately he wrote his pal back home and in glowing terms explained that no matter WHAT he had to do, he just HAD to get to Pittsburgh and work in the mill.
The poor "grasshopper" had been around the entire town looking for jobs but none were to be had, so he determined he would have to just suck it up and ride the bike north, no matter how long it took. Intimidating but not impossible, his journey began. The first day he made over 100 miles. Second day, sore but undaunted he had added another 100-plus. On the third day he was still miles from his goal, he decided to stop at a gas station where he might find a drink and reluctantly spend some of the few dollars he'd managed to gain before he'd left home. As he was drinking water from the station fawcet he looked up to see a shiny Shelby Mustang GT350 at the pump with a Pennsylvania tag on it, stuffed to overfull with all manner of belongings. A fella of similar age was leaning on it as the attendant filled his tank. Our grasshopper approached the driver and asked if he was from anywhere near Pittsburgh.
"Well, yes as a matter of fact, I am." came the reply. "And after spending six months here in Tennessee looking for work, I'm done and heading home."
Our lad asked: "Is there ANY way I could get a lift from you?"
The driver had NO room left in the small car for even a toothbrush, but looking at the bicyclist and knowing the distance involved, made this suggestion: "I have a rope in the car. And a whistle... we'll tie the handlebar to the bumper, when you need to rest or stop, just blow the whistle and I'll pull over."
Skeptical but without any other option than to pedal the rest of the journey, our lad agreed to try it. Off they went. Through Virginia, West Virginia and nearly into Pennsylvania. Our hero would blow that whistle once-in-a-while and the Mustang would pull over and they would take a break. By now it has been hours behind the Mustang, darkness as well. A stop in Breezewood and then onto the Turnpike. The driver by now has been awake and concentrating on driving. He fights the occasional nod, and by now is less aware of the rope and bike rider. He suddenly sees headlights in the mirror come up from behind on his left in a rush, he looks over and a shiny red Corvette has almost appeared from thin air to pace along side him. Now he has forgotten the tow rope completely as the Corvette driver depresses the clutch and revs the monster Chevy a couple times. Thunder echos off the western PA hillsides... The challenge is beyond denial. Off they go, accelerating to over the Century mark, side by side.
As fate would have it there's a State Trooper a few miles west, sitting in a blind just waiting for such a situation. Zzziipppp!!! The pair of muscle cars rings the Trooper's bell. Off he goes in pursuit. The cruiser can only slowly creep up on the barreling duo of Detroit iron and the trooper can only vaguely make out what he believes has to be an impossibility.
But dutifully he reaches for the Motorola, and reluctantly radios ahead this report: “Car 21; we have two movers in a drag race heading west at marker 56 in excess of one hundred miles an hour.... and I KNOW this is gonna sound crazy BUT: there's some silly bastage on a BICYCLE, pedaling his arse off, BLOWIN' a WHISTLE and tryin' to pass 'em BOTH!”
After graduating the industrious one did indeed buy bus fare and before making his way to Pittsburgh he gave his friend his bicycle for transport around town. Upon arriving in PA he got a job in a mill starting out sweeping floors at the then princely sum of $8 an hour. Immediately he wrote his pal back home and in glowing terms explained that no matter WHAT he had to do, he just HAD to get to Pittsburgh and work in the mill.
The poor "grasshopper" had been around the entire town looking for jobs but none were to be had, so he determined he would have to just suck it up and ride the bike north, no matter how long it took. Intimidating but not impossible, his journey began. The first day he made over 100 miles. Second day, sore but undaunted he had added another 100-plus. On the third day he was still miles from his goal, he decided to stop at a gas station where he might find a drink and reluctantly spend some of the few dollars he'd managed to gain before he'd left home. As he was drinking water from the station fawcet he looked up to see a shiny Shelby Mustang GT350 at the pump with a Pennsylvania tag on it, stuffed to overfull with all manner of belongings. A fella of similar age was leaning on it as the attendant filled his tank. Our grasshopper approached the driver and asked if he was from anywhere near Pittsburgh.
"Well, yes as a matter of fact, I am." came the reply. "And after spending six months here in Tennessee looking for work, I'm done and heading home."
Our lad asked: "Is there ANY way I could get a lift from you?"
The driver had NO room left in the small car for even a toothbrush, but looking at the bicyclist and knowing the distance involved, made this suggestion: "I have a rope in the car. And a whistle... we'll tie the handlebar to the bumper, when you need to rest or stop, just blow the whistle and I'll pull over."
Skeptical but without any other option than to pedal the rest of the journey, our lad agreed to try it. Off they went. Through Virginia, West Virginia and nearly into Pennsylvania. Our hero would blow that whistle once-in-a-while and the Mustang would pull over and they would take a break. By now it has been hours behind the Mustang, darkness as well. A stop in Breezewood and then onto the Turnpike. The driver by now has been awake and concentrating on driving. He fights the occasional nod, and by now is less aware of the rope and bike rider. He suddenly sees headlights in the mirror come up from behind on his left in a rush, he looks over and a shiny red Corvette has almost appeared from thin air to pace along side him. Now he has forgotten the tow rope completely as the Corvette driver depresses the clutch and revs the monster Chevy a couple times. Thunder echos off the western PA hillsides... The challenge is beyond denial. Off they go, accelerating to over the Century mark, side by side.
As fate would have it there's a State Trooper a few miles west, sitting in a blind just waiting for such a situation. Zzziipppp!!! The pair of muscle cars rings the Trooper's bell. Off he goes in pursuit. The cruiser can only slowly creep up on the barreling duo of Detroit iron and the trooper can only vaguely make out what he believes has to be an impossibility.
But dutifully he reaches for the Motorola, and reluctantly radios ahead this report: “Car 21; we have two movers in a drag race heading west at marker 56 in excess of one hundred miles an hour.... and I KNOW this is gonna sound crazy BUT: there's some silly bastage on a BICYCLE, pedaling his arse off, BLOWIN' a WHISTLE and tryin' to pass 'em BOTH!”
