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Cruise of the Foo Foo Special Jr, by Art Widner, Jr., 1943

Page 11

The Cruise of the "FooFoo Special Jr" * * * 11

in fact I even enjoyed it a little. What the heck, I was warm enuf, so why should I worry about a little nice clean H2O? The rain stopped by four and the sky was clear by five. I splurged $1.25 for an enormous fried chicken supper at a classy roadside eatery. I also enjoyed the malapropos effect of my very presence. To say I contrasted with my surroundings is putting it mildly. The waitress was at first icily efficient, but later, observing I made no attempt to secrete the silver ware and napkins in my knapsack, must've swung over to the theory that I was an eccentric playboy or something, for she thawed out considerably and gave me all sorts of attention toward the end of the meal.

I whizzed along at a good clip after this and was well on my way to make New London before sunset and some to spare when I discovered I had left my knapsack ten miles back at a soft drink stand. (!!!#"!@**#!#!!) So there was an extra twenty miles to do. I was ready to chew up the handlebars and gum the rubber grips for dessert. To punish myself for this colossal blunder I pelted the whole twenty just about as hard as I could, covering it in an hour and five minutes, so that I reached NL at 9:30, which wasn't so bad after all. Even at that, I was quite chipper compared to my condition there on the way down. I had a sandwich and a glass of beer, which unaccountably made my legs feel like lead.

But I really slept. I felt so good in the cool dawn, I thot I must've slept 14 hours in seven. I maintained a steady 10 mph even in the face of climbing the hills in southern Rhode Island. Finally, a good steep one piled on top of two others, each about a third of a mile long, forced me to get off and push; and the push gave me the idea that breakfast at the summit diner might be a very good idea. There were half a dozen trucks there which had passed me at varying distances back along the line, and all the drivers expressed admiration at my arrival so soon. They were very friendly, and listened well to the account of my exploits, trials, tribulations, and the extolling of the virtues of the FooFoo Special Jr. The biggest one offered me fifty bucks for my steed when I got to Providence where he lived, but I refused.

Then, either thru admiration, just plain generosity, or the desire to talk me into selling, he offered to tie the bike onto his truck and take me to Providence. I accepted with great rejoicing and was exceeding glad. We had difficulty in selecting a suitable place where the bike might ride without damage, and finally the quietest one spoke up and said there was just enuf space for my bike between his tailboard and his load of blueberries. I asked him where he was going.

To Boston?!!! Hallelujah!!! He would pass within ten miles of Quincy! Offer #1 was politely but hurriedly declined, and FSJr was securely tied in place. Eighty miles! Eighty luxurious miles I rode in the hot, bouncing, swaying cabin of the truck, and I loved it. No pedals to push, no worrying about my ragged tires, nothing to do but sit and arrive rapidly home.

Which I did at 11:30 AM, surprising my wife no end.

The End.

Saving...

The Cruise of the "FooFoo Special Jr" * * * 11 in fact I even enjoyed it a little. What the heck, I was warm enuf, so why should I worry about a little nice clean H2O? The rain stopped by four and the sky was clear by five. I splurged $1.25 for an enormous fried chicken supper at a classy roadside eatery. I also enjoyed the malapropos effect of my very presence. To say I contrasted with my surroundings is putting it mildly. The waitress was at first icily efficient, but later, observing I made no attempt to secrete the silver ware and napkins in my knapsack, must've swung over to the theory that I was an eccentric playboy or something, for she thawed out considerably and gave me all sorts of attention toward the end of the meal. I whizzed along at a good clip after this and was well on my way to make New London before sunset and some to spare when I discovered I had left my knapsack ten miles back at a soft drink stand. (!!!#"!@**#!#!!) So there was an extra twenty miles to do. I was ready to chew up the handlebars and gum the rubber grips for dessert. To punish myself for this colossal blunder I pelted the whole twenty just about as hard as I could, covering it in an hour and five minutes, so that I reached NL at 9:30, which wasn't so bad after all. Even at that, I was quite chipper compared to my condition there on the way down. I had a sandwich and a glass of beer, which unaccountably made my legs feel like lead. But I really slept. I felt so good in the cool dawn, I thot I must've slept 14 hours in seven. I maintained a steady 10 mph even in the face of climbing the hills in southern Rhode Island. Finally, a good steep one piled on top of two others, each about a third of a mile long, forced me to get off and push; and the push gave me the idea that breakfast at the summit diner might be a very good idea. There were half a dozen trucks there which had passed me at varying distances back along the line, and all the drivers expressed admiration at my arrival so soon. They were very friendly, and listened well to the account of my exploits, trials, tribulations, and the extolling of the virtues of the FooFoo Special Jr. The biggest one offered me fifty bucks for my steed when I got to Providence where he lived, but I refused. Then, either thru admiration, just plain generosity, or the desire to talk me into selling, he offered to tie the bike onto his truck and take me to Providence. I accepted with great rejoicing and was exceeding glad. We had difficulty in selecting a suitable place where the bike might ride without damage, and finally the quietest one spoke up and said there was just enuf space for my bike between his tailboard and his load of blueberries. I asked him where he was going. To Boston?!!! Hallelujah!!! He would pass within ten miles of Quincy! Offer #1 was politely but hurriedly declined, and FSJr was securely tied in place. Eighty miles! Eighty luxurious miles I rode in the hot, bouncing, swaying cabin of the truck, and I loved it. No pedals to push, no worrying about my ragged tires, nothing to do but sit and arrive rapidly home. Which I did at 11:30 AM, surprising my wife no end. The End.