Ammo

And then there was the time, as a teenager, I planned to ride my Schwinn Varsity 10 speed around both Lake Michigan and Lake Superior in 1964. I had never ridden the bike more than 40 miles.

I discovered that, outside of Chicago, there were farms. And on every farm there were dogs. And dogs love to chase guys on bikes. Never knew that.

After getting about 120 miles out of Chicago I found myself being chased, relay fashion, from one farm to the next farm by the family dogs.

So, in Whitewater, Wisconsin, I pulled up to a hardware store, leaned my bike against the window and went in. I asked the clerk if he had a gun. I needed protection "...for the road." He said `sure!' and I bought a 22 calibre nine-shot pistol. Just like that. As I'm walking out the door the clerk says to me ... "Hey. Want some ammo?" I turned to him: "What's `ammo?'"

And then I rode another 30 or 40 miles with a loaded pistol in my right hand. The palm of my hand was resting on the handlebar.

Occasionally I'd fire off a round at a road sign. Once I shot down a farm driveway when a dog came charging out. Dog turned around literally in mid-air when the rocks in front of it kicked up from the bullet.

Later, I decided to ride a highway that was ristricted to motor vehicles. A state cop pulled me over, pistol in my hand. He told me to get off the restricted hiway and go back to the farm roads. !! He completely ignored the pistol that was conspicuous as could be.

The picture tells the rest of the story. http://picasaweb.google.com/psychling/Ammo#

Adolescent ignorance knows no limits.

Happy trails.