|
Car Free
Non-fiction
The Tales of Jim Foreman
A man, his bike and the open roads of the west. The man is Jim
Foreman, a natural story teller. He understands adventures are where you find them.
He understands the spell of place. West By Northwest.org is proud to introduce our
readers to the Garrison Keeeler of the road. Here is one new tale (not yet on his
site). We have enjoyed getting to know Jim through his stories and we think you will
too. For more, visit http://www.geocities.com/jimforetales/
The Day The Donut Ride Got Arrested
Little did I suspect when Fred Kamp asked if I would lead the Donut Ride the next
Saturday, I would be in jeopardy of ending up eating a stale donut in the city jail
instead of enjoying a pecan sticky at Brown's Bakery. In retrospect, I really think
Fred had a premonition of what was about to happen and suckered me into taking the
fall.
The day started out in the usual manner with perhaps thirty eager donut riders gathered
in a ragged circle at the park. After they recited their names and got their instructions:
stay behind the fastest rider and regroup in the shade of a big tree just after crossing
the bridge on 19th Street, the ride was under way.
I assumed the position of leader by staying with the slowest riders as we made our
way along the frontage road, dodging drivers bailing off the I-44 exit like Mario
Andretti coming into the pits at Indy and past the Hibdon tire store. I could see
the riders ahead as they made the turn onto 19th street and crossed over the bridge.
As I came rolling up behind them, I noticed two police cars parked where we usually
waited for the slower riders to catch up. One officer was talking with the donut
riders and the other one was talking to a little old lady on the porch of the house
where we were stopped. She looked like she might have been around for the land run.
"That's him," about half the riders shouted as the pointed at me.
The officer turned and asked, "Are you responsible for these people?"
"Well, I'm the ride leader today but as far as being responsible for...."
"Look at them," shouted the little old lady, shaking a bony finger in the
officer's face. "Look at them; they are exposing themselves right now!"
"What seems to be the problem, Officer?" I asked.
"We got a call that people on bicycle stopped in front of her house every Saturday
morning and exposed themselves," he replied.
The little old lady ducked under the officer's arm and came busting down the sidewalk
like a mad banty hen, the officer hot on her heels. "See how they are dressed
in those tight pants, you can see their thangs plain as day. Arrest them all!"
she squawked.
The second I arrived, the other cyclists started sneaking away and soon I was the
only one left to suffer her wrath. While one officer was trying to shoo her back
to the porch where she couldn't get at us with her cane, I explained to the other
one why we stopped there. Both the officers were doing their best to keep from laughing
as they explained to the lady that was the way bicyclists dressed so I made a suggestion
that I figured would solve to the whole problem. "Tell the lady that I apologize
if we offended her and in the future, we will stop to regroup further down the street."
As I rode away, both officers were still talking with the little lady and I suppose
my offer made her happy because we started stopping a block down the street and never
saw her again.
---
Biography
 |
They say you can never go home, which is especially true in my case since I was born
in 1928 in a town called Signal Hill, located in the Panhandle of Texas. No need
looking for it on a map because the only thing that exists there any more are a few
crumbling foundations and some rusting pipes sticking out of the ground. It was founded
in 1926, grew to 12,000 people in four years and was completely gone in four more.
The last building standing, the old bank, was torn down and the bricks salvaged in
1934.
It was founded by a land promoter who envisioned a place for the new oil rich from
the Texas Panhandle to build their mansions, as he had seen in Signal Hill, California.
However, greed got the best of him and the $200 lots ended up being 25' wide by 80'
deep. Pretty hard to build much of a mansion on a lot that size. The only thing the
buyers had going for them was they got the mineral rights when they bought the lot.
Most of the people who bought lots started drilling for oil even before they set
up a tent or built a shack to live in. When all the holes started coming in as dusters,
they just picked up and left. My dad put our two room house on skids and dragged
it three miles with a team of mules to a section of land he had bought for a dollar
an acre a mile east of Stinnett. I was one of six members in the smallest class to
ever graduate from Stinnett High School.
I learned to fly while in high school and soloed an airplane on my 16th birthday.
I was born just three days too late to be drafted for WW-II which put me at the top
of the list for Korea. I wanted to fly but couldn't pass the eye test so based on
a degree in journalism, they put me in the engineers building runways. I was drafted
into the army as a private and came out two years later as a Master Sergeant.
I married Freda, the light and love of my life and together we have three wonderful
and successful kids; two doctors and a legal eagle. After getting our kids well on
their ways in life, I decided to leave the pressure of a management position with
a major retail company and celebrated my 50th birthday by retiring. This would allow
me to do the things I had always wanted; to write, fly airplanes and gliders and
travel. In retrospect, while I don't make the money I could have had I stayed with
the company, I feel better and know that I'm far healthier than I was 20 years ago.
In the process, I've been able to travel to many places in the world, had between
150 and 200 magazine articles published along with six books and we truly enjoy life.
I bought a bicycle to use as transportation so I wouldn't have to move our motorhome
when it was parked and found just how much fun it was to rediscover what I had lost
the day I became old enough to get a driver's license. My touring bike has carried
me to many interesting places but mostly it has brought me into contact with some
of the nicest people around. No longer do I associate friends with what they do for
a living but for our common interest.
I try to live life to the fullest and my motto is not to leave anything in the glass
when I die.
--- Jim
|