ON A ROLL or DAD’S GERMAN VW BUG

   Dad had returned from Europe with a new VW, a shiny red Bug. Wow! A Bug! VW Bugs were taking the USA by storm. This car was his pride and joy.

Francis with his dad's red VW Bug.

On rare occasions he would let me drive it, if I promised to keep it in showroom condition. My good friend, Paul Evans, was impressed. His dad had a small Fiat that he would race through “The River Bottoms.”  He couldn’t wait to introduce me and the VW to his favorite racetrack.

    Winding through its curves, adrenalin pumping, tires squealing, was a real rush! As time went by we were only satisfied with more speed, more G’s, and the feel of the Bug’s back end sliding out on the curves. We thought we were great drivers! Dad had asked, “Why are the tires wearing out on the sides?” The Red VW would become one of his great mortal trials.

   The night of BY High’s Homecoming celebration I offered a good friend, Paul Denham, center on our State Championship basketball team, a demo jaunt through the River Bottoms. The excitement was impressive as we leaned into the curves, our hearts pounding, lunging ahead with each shift of the gears. We were on a roll and also totally unaware that down the S-curved road about half a mile a gravel truck had lost its load. We hit the curve and the gravel at top speed. The Bug slid across the road sideways, hit an irrigation ditch and rolled twice into a hay field. Fortunately we were strapped in tight.

   We unbuckled, got out of the car, looked ourselves over for damage, and found none. I couldn’t say as much for Dad’s new VW. There was hardly a spot on it that wasn’t scratched or dented.

     The car started up and we got it back on the road, but as we began the long drive for home we soon discovered that along with other problems the back axle was bent. We bounced along, up and down, up and down. Our top speed was now just 10 miles an hour. We stood around for several hours at the garage where our friend, Paul Evans, worked. It was hard to know where to begin fixing the Bug. We decided it was definitely a job for the professionals.

   Climbing the stairs that night at 1:00 in the morning to tell Dad what had happened to his prize import was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. After making sure I was ok, he groaned, “We can fix it, but it will never be the same.”

  

ROAD RASH ON A SHINY NEW VESPA

Vespa 150

    Ash Avenue was buzzing with the sound of Vespa motor scooters. All of us got our drivers licenses about the same time and all of us “Ash Ave” boys bought Vespas: Paul Gilbert, Phil Swensen, Joe Clark, Kim Bateman, Emery Smith, Jan Henderson, Stewart Grow, George Taylor, and yours truly! It was almost comical to see us all arrive at BYU High, flip up our kickstands, grab our books, and head for class. We were cool, and that was for sure. I bought mine for about $600. It had extra equipment which made it just a little cooler than the rest.

    To make the payments I worked as an early morning janitor for JC Penney’s. Then I worked in the kitchen at a rest home. And finally I took over Stewart Grow’s car route, delivering papers for the Deseret News. There was a gas allowance for the car route, but using my economical scooter put extra bucks in my pocket.

1950s Deseret News masthead

    The paper route covered the River Bottoms and went all the way up Provo Canyon to Wildwood.

Wildwood community in Provo Canyon

Off and on my brother Russ would ride on the back and stuff the rolled papers into Deseret News tubes alongside the road. His reward was usually a pop or a milk shake at the Riverside Café near Vivian Park.

    One sunny Saturday Joe Clark and I took a road trip to Salt Lake on our shiny new Vespas. My 150 was a beautiful blue and Joe's 125 was a boring tan. We went by way of Camp Williams on Redwood Road to avoid the heavier, faster traffic.

Camp Williams on Redwood Road near Bluffdale, UT

     On the long straight hill just past Camp Williams we decided to see just how fast these babies could go. By crouching low we might be able to bury the needle at 65 mph. Joe was just ahead of me with our scooters whining at top RPMs. I was determined to make up the distance when suddenly a large German Shepherd bounded onto the road chasing Joe's scooter.

German Shepherd loving the chase

    It must not have seen me because it ran right into my front wheel. The next thing I knew I was flying through the air looking up at my scooter cartwheeling above me. The scooter hit the road in front of me showering me with sparks as it slid down the rough pavement.

With no helmet I followed, sliding from shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and elbow to elbow, until finally coming to rest in the middle of the road. My clothes were shredded, my upper body covered with road rash.

A passerby in his car stopped and came to my aid. I was taken to a local clinic and hosed down with disinfectant. It felt like I had been set on fire. Still in shock, I can't recall how I got home.

    One month and eighty dollars worth of repairs later, I was back on the road. I still have small scars on my shoulders, hips and elbows where the road sanded me down. Looking back I was lucky, or blessed, not to have been seriously injured. In those days only dorks wore helmets!