SIXTY MILES ON A THREE-SPEED

   

Stewart Grow

    Have you ever been around someone who was always smiling, always friendly, always had a project cooking, and could only see the good in life? Well, I was lucky enough to have one right through the block. His name was Stewart Grow. He was a grade older than me but we were good friends and did a lot together.

    His dad had a fruit orchard a couple of blocks from us, as the bird flies. Speaking of birds, it was in this orchard that I had the troubling experience of shooting a small bird with my BB gun. At the top end of his orchard were some very tall cherry trees. They must have been around for at least 50 years. In late June half the boys in the neighborhood would pick cherries from these trees to make a few bucks. It was there, scouring the high cherry tree branches, that Stewart found the perfect spot for a tree house. It was high and so secluded that you couldn't see it from the ground. Good for keeping out girls and other unwanted pests.

Tree house

    As the summer passed, the tree house took shape. We had a ball measuring, cutting and pounding. It had windows, a roof, a trap door, and even an escape rope in case we needed a quick getaway. There was just enough room for two snoozers. It did get a little spooky when the wind came up and the branches rocked and swayed. Sleep was hard to come by knowing how far off the ground we were.

    In the same orchard the Grows kept a horse which his dad would saddle up occasionally and let us trot around the fenced pasture. This inspired me to begin saving up for my own horse. I even asked Stewart's dad if I could keep it in his pasture. As time went by I lost interest in getting my own horse. It was just as much fun to ride Stewart's and a heck of a lot cheaper!


PUMPING FOR OUR LIVES or CYCLING MERIT BADGE

    I don't remember going to Cub Scouts, but Stewart kept me going in the Boy Scout Program. Another friend, Paul Gilbert, just two houses up Ash Avenue, had the full uniform which displayed every patch, pin, badge, and trinket available. He even had his official Boy Scout pocket knife with a dozen secret blades hanging from his official Boy Scout belt. Stewart and I didn't have all the bells and whistles that Paul had, but I owe whatever badges and ranks I achieved to Stewart because most of the time he would include me in his plans.

Boy Scout Merit badges 1958-1960

    By far the most memorable badge we worked on together was Cycling. We studied the manual and became experts at patching tubes, fixing chains and keeping our 3-speed Schwinns in top condition. We planned a bike trip to pump the 60 miles from Provo to Lagoon via Stewart's grandma's house in Bountiful. We would stay the night, hit Lagoon in the morning, and then set out for my Grandpa's farm in Morgan. We pored over maps finding the best and safest back roads to follow.

Schwinn 3-speed bike

    Bright and early on a sumer morning we left at first light, happy to hit the road. We pumped along Geneva Road, past the Lehi Brick Plant and on to Redwood Road at the foot of the Ochre Mountains. By the time we started up toward Camp Williams, the sun was up and starting to bore into us. Even with our 3 gears the climb was exhausting. By the time we reached the summit our water supply was gone along with our strength. It would be a thrill coasting all the way down the hill to Riverton.

Camp Williams, Utah

     Oh no! Just as we hit top speed on the way down, Stewart's bag of essential supplies fell off his bike and skidded down the road. Pumping back up hill the ¼ mile to retrieve it was a chore. From there it was a straight shot the next 35 miles to Bountiful. It wasn't part of the plan, but our trip took on a new pattern. We would pump like crazy and stop at a Dairy Queen to recover.

1950s Dairy Queen stand

     Then we were jetting off to the next Tastee-Freeze and so on, and so on, and so on. It turned out to be a very hot day and the root beer, burgers and milk shake stops were our salvation. By the time we left North Salt Lake and passed the airport we were in the desert. For the next 6 miles we felt like Omar Sharif in Lawrence of Arabia. No more refreshing Dairy Queens, no more nothings!

1950s Tastee-Freez stand

  

    We had made a foolish mistake. We felt we were so close to Bountiful we didn't need to refill our water bottles. We had been lulled into complacency by all the available pit stops. We were sure there would be more on the last lap to Bountiful. But no such luck! With tongues hanging out like two dying desert rats we pumped on. The lines in the road began to squiggle like spaghetti noodles, and the heat waves coming off the road created the illusion of lakes of water. I think we were losing it!

    Off the road to our left we spotted a farm house about half mile of dirt road away. It would take us extra time to pump our bikes that way but we had no choice. We had to have water. The place turned out to be a dump with nobody home, but we were able to find an outside faucet and at least quench our thirst.

Lagoon Amusement Park, Farmington, UT,  in the 1950s

    By the time we finally turned east and began the last stretch to Bountiful we were spent! The idea of resting a bit at Stewart's grandma's house and then heading on to Lagoon was out of the question. We were done, finished, dead in the saddle. A phone call home brought Stewart's mother, driving her big station wagon to haul us and our bikes back to Provo. We didn't plan any more bike trips for a long, long time. But by darn, we had earned our Cycling Merit Badge!

Boy Scout Cycling Merit Badge 1959