Had a load to deliver in the Kansas City area, but with two extra days to wait, for the appointment. With only a vague idea of what I wanted to do with my time, I stopped in St. Joseph. There are two decent truck stops here, but none on the Kansas side of Kansas City.

Looked up some bicycle shops on my Garmin navigator. I wanted to see what kinds of bicycles they had for sale. So I pulled out my cell phone and called the nearest place, which turns out to be a wrong number. Thanks a lot, Garmin. So I walked into the truck stop, and asked to look at the local phone book. The place that appeared on my Garmin was not even listed in the phone book. There was some other bike shop in the downtown area, so I jotted down their phone number. Had no intention of walking that far, but there were K-mart and Wal-Mart stores fairly close to me. Decided to go for a walk over that way; I could use the exercise, and maybe some fresh fruit. It was hot in the sun, so much to make this cool-air conditioned truck driver very uncomfortable.

Had already looked at bicycles at Wal-Mart, K-mart, and Cabelas, in several other cities, enough to learn that most bicycles are now made in China. Even the old familiar Schwinn company is now merely a brand name, for products made in China. This was a difficult development to swallow, as my first bicycle [one of the best I ever rode] was a Schwinn 3-speed; a gift from my parents when I was 7 years old. At that time, my bike was made in North America; the only interesting thing made in China was fireworks.

There came to me a deeper bonding experience with bicycles, which began in Suffolk County, Long Island. That was where I spent six months as a Mormon missionary. We rode 10-speed bicycles for long distances, like some people drive their cars. My first serious accident with a bicycle happened there; a piece of scrap metal flipped up into the front wheel, broke many of the spokes, and stopped the wheel from turning. It did not stop my momentum, as I was launched over the handle bars. A few months later, I was hit by a car, which bent the frame in two places; this time the bicycle was “totaled” - as some would say.

The next bicycle I purchased was a silver racing model, with thin high-pressure tires, and the popular twisted-ram-horn handlebars. I mounted a small cargo rack on the back, and learned to do my own maintenance and repairs, where possible. This bicycle was not always suitable for the rigors of un-groomed roads. While coasting down a hill into Perth Amboy, at some abnormal rate of speed, I crossed a railroad, with high rails, which dented both wheels. I paid to have that silver bicycle shipped to my house in Utah, where it sat idle for many years.

After a long hiatus from bicycle riding, I moved to Little Neck, New York. There, I purchased a new bicycle to ride to work. That lasted only a few weeks, until it was stolen out of the yard where I lived. Could not afford to purchase another new bicycle, so one of my associates arranged for me to get a used bicycle. It was not a love for bicycle riding which kept me going back to it; it served a practical need. I used that bicycle to go shopping, and to haul my laundry to the laundry shop.

After I moved to Memphis, four years later, I tried to get active in bicycle riding again. Brought that old silver bicycle out of Utah, and tried some street riding around town. That was not so fun, and sometimes dangerous. Memphis streets were never designed with bicycles or pedestrians in mind. Most of them had no shoulder to ride on, and no sidewalks. There was only one place near Memphis, which was safe for riding bicycles.

A friend invited me to Shelby Farms, to ride mountain bikes. This was a marvelous forested area around a section of the Wolf River, with many riding trails. Most people who go there, drive their cars, because of safety concerns. Most hard-core bike riders there are wary of Memphis streets, and ride mountain bikes. This friend offered to let me use his wife’s mountain bike, but I declined. My silver street racer seemed to have many good miles left in it, and I did not know what to expect in this Shelby Farms, so I rode it there; following my friend through low-hanging tree branches, over bumpy tree roots, through muddy ruts, over wooden bridges, and grassy meadows. We rode several hours at a time, usually on saturdays. It was great fun, but it didn’t last. After a series of misfortunes, unrelated to bike riding, I got rid of my old silver street racer.

Now here I was in St. Joseph; a truck driver, living on a truck, wishing there was some way to go bicycle riding again. I found the model I wanted in that K-mart store; it was a Mongoose mountain bike, designed by Pacific Cycle. It had the familiar Knobby tires on 26-inch wheels, and a 3x7 set of sprockets (21-speed). The key attraction for me was the spring-loaded rear shock absorber, which is a fairly recent development in bicycles. With my aging joints, I need all the shock protection I can get. Another feature of this Mongoose bike, not-so-important to me, was the dual disc brakes. This is standard equipment on motorcycles, but rare on bicycles. In all the stores I had seen this type of bicycle, disc brakes seemed to add an extra hundred dollars (each) to the price. Not so, here at K-mart. They had this Mongoose priced at just $239.

A-ha. So here was the bicycle I wanted, at a good price, and at a time when I was bored-to-the-gourd. There were still nagging questions about how I would put it, or secure it, on my already-cluttered truck. Some might think it was a leap of faith, that made me buy this bicycle. Others might think it an act of stupidity. Let’s just see how this experience developed.

The K-mart manager assured me that all their bikes were assembled by a “professional” because the store people did not want the liability. It was obvious that this “professional” did not pay attention to details, because things were not adjusted properly. The “professional” was not presently available, so I had to get the clerk to help me inflate the tires, and secure the fenders before I left the store. I selected a helmet, and a lock, and paid for it all. I rode the Mongoose bicycle back to my truck, with the owners manual still dangling from the handlebar, because I was not carrying my pocket knife to cut it loose.

Some things I really like on this Mongoose are the twist-grip shifter controls, the upward-pointing handle posts, the seat adjustment clamp, and the fenders. I also learned that the front wheel was a bit wobbly, and the pedals did not spin freely. Thanks to that “professional” assembler. I was a bit bothered by my pants cuffs flopping along the sprocket area; when this happened during my missionary experience in New York, my right cuff sometimes got snagged between the chain and the sprocket. I was compelled to use special clips that resembled bracelets, around my ankles while riding. Figured I could get some similar clips from the bike shop in St. Joseph, to solve the problem.

It was late in the afternoon when I called the number for the bike shop in St. Joseph; learned that they could do a tune-up, and confirmed their location. Took a can of teflon-spray lube from the truck, and applied squirts to the wheel axles. Set out to find that bicycle shop, with the help of my Garmin navigator.

Rode only about a mile, when I began to lose my energy, pedaling up a steep hill. Had to stop and walk for a while. This area has lots of hills. There are also lots of paved bicycle paths, but I would have to discover them by accident.

The bike shop was located next to the city hall, in a building that was once used to sell medical supplies. Unfortunately for me, I arrived at 18:15 after it was closed. At that moment, I was very tired, and wanted nothing other than to return to the truck stop, and go to sleep. Had to dismount and walk on several uphill areas, which made the trip seem much longer than it really was.

Before I went to sleep inside my truck, I locked the new bicycle onto the backside of the cab. This is where I learned that it was not a good place to keep a bike. Volvo does not design their trucks to accommodate bicycles. In one position, it interfered with the air hoses; in another position, one tire leaned against the muffler, where it would melt. Even if I removed both tires and strapped the frame to the slider bars on my truck, all the bounce and jiggle from the moving truck would scuff paint on the bicycle frame, and possibly damage the cables. Any time there was rain, my drive tires would splatter road grime all over the bike.

Now we get to the part of the story where St. Joseph gets interesting. I got up early the next morning, with the same smelly clothes I was wearing on yesterday’s ride. Was anxious to get to that bike shop, so I could get a tune-up. Put on my new helmet, and short leather gloves. Something on the wheel was squeaking loudly as I rode; was almost downtown when I figured out that pesky rear disc brake was the culprit. It had an adjustment knob, which I tweaked until the noise went away. The squeak would return again and again during the day, no matter how it was adjusted. I eventually got tired of fiddling with it, and let it squeak.

The trip to the bicycle shop made my legs tired, and my butt sore, but the exercise still felt good. Discovered an interesting grassy park, with a bicycle path, heading somewhat toward the downtown area.

No problem getting into the bike shop today, but there was a problem. They would not be able to do a tune-up until tomorrow; there were a herd of bicycles in the shop ahead of me, waiting for service. “Uh-Uh”, I said to the clerk. “What can you do today?” Sorry, I would have to wait. One of the other employees thought it was funny that I would expect service today. Did not bother to explain that I would be gone tomorrow, and may never return. Had a look around the shop, trying to find any Mongoose bicycles for sale, wondering if there would be a better price than I paid at K-mart. No Mongoose bicycles. No similar models of any make.

It was still early in the day, and I was very sweaty, hungry, and tired. Noticed some street signs with mention of a “Riverside Park”. I imagined that maybe there would be some food vendors there, or at least a set of public restrooms, with a water fountain. Followed the signs, which led me past a charity feed hall, the Salvation Army, and some derelict buildings, then down a narrow, bumpy red brick road. Lots of walkways and roadways around town are paved with bricks; it probably looked great when they were installed, but some are getting rather bumpy, and many of the slots are infested with weeds. Crossed railroad tracks, and came to the Riverside parking lot. There was a small building which may have been public restrooms in years past, but now it was locked and derelict. Other than a few cars, there were no signs of life. This park was probably a blessing to the local bicycle enthusiasts, but I was not especially interested in finding another place to ride my bicycle. Followed the paved path along the river, over a small bridge, and eventually met a lone woman walking. Asked her if there were any water fountains around, to which she replied, “I don’t know of any.” So I returned to the city hall area of town, looking for a restaurant. There were other signs in the area with mention of Jesse James’ house. I was not a fan of Jesse James, but it might be worth a look, as long as I was here - after I rested and ate lunch.

There was a pizza parlor (closed), and a pub, but no special restaurants to be seen. Hungry though I was, it was not enough to make me investigate the charity feed hall. The only other choices I saw were Taco Bell, and Hardees. It seemed a bit odd; ¿Why should visitors to this downtown area not have an opportunity to eat somewhere other than at a fast-food franchise? I locked my bike to a railing, and went inside Taco Bell. It was very busy, but it felt good to get out of the sun, and feel the cold air. Noticed that my arms and neck were sunburned. Ordered a meal combo, which was supposed to include two burritos filled with lettuce, tomatoes, meat, beans, cheese, and onion. What I was served did not have any cheese, lettuce or tomatoes. I was pleased that they did not put any cheese in it, because I quit eating cheese years ago; yet I did not recall asking them to hold the lettuce and tomatoes. I was too hungry to wait in line again, or argue about my order, so I ate it.

More people came into the Taco Bell, until there was no room to easily get out the door. I inquired about the Jesse James house, and learned that it was only about 8 blocks away, next to the Pony Express Museum. Now that piqued my curiosity. I rode over toward the Pony Express stables, and stopped about a block short. There I noticed a large black steam-engine locomotive under an awning, and surrounded by a fence. I guess they did not want people climbing on it, or throwing garbage on it. This is the kind of antique that interests me; I imagined what it may have been like, to be a railroad engineer, hauling a hundred cars of freight across the country. I still fantasize about riding in a caboose.

The Pony Express Museum and stables were a good place to visit, and learn a part of this nation’s history. Lots of murals, artifacts, and multimedia presentations. This was the eastern terminal of the operation, where the railroad ended and the wagon trails began. Horses were used to transport mail between here and Sacramento, until a telegraph line made the operation obsolete. More westward-bound pioneers left through St. Joseph in those days than any other city, which made it possible to run several elaborate hotels in the city. I was about to visit one.

The Jesse James house was actually moved to a corner of the lot where the Patee House Museum sits, which is about a block from where it was when Jesse James was killed in it. Had no interest in taking photos, but paid to walk through it, and was impressed with how small the rooms are. It was short, bitter, and I left anxious to see the more interesting things.

There were indeed more interesting things in the Patee House Museum, which is one of a few elaborate hotels left standing in St. Joseph. Over the years, it was used as a girls school, and a garment factory, before being converted to a museum. From the photo, you can clearly see there are four levels in the building. I spent considerable time walking through the exhibits, and must report that only the first two levels are open to museum patrons. There is an old spiral staircase in one area, which is blocked off at the second floor. So I can’t help but wonder what all those hotel rooms on the upper floors are used for. Future expansion?

There is an old carousel near the back entrance, close to the Jesse James house. I sat and watched it whirl for a few minutes, and tried to learn the history behind it. Seems the man who built it, was told to remove it from the mall where it was last installed, so he offered it to the Patee House Museum.

There were more exhibits in the Patee House than I can remember, but I will mention a few.

Right next to the carousel is another antique steam-powered locomotive, with a mail car attached. How it got there is almost as interesting as the machine itself. I had supposed there was a railroad terminal or a spur already in place, near the hotel, and the locomotive was driven right into place under its own steam power. Not so. It was hauled into the area on a special trailer, by a diesel truck. Temporary tracks were laid going into the hotel gathering hall, cranes were used to lift the locomotive onto the tracks, and a system of winches and pulleys were used to nudge it into the place it now sits.

There is a large balcony, not open to the public, where William Seward once gave a speech to an antagonistic crowd on the grounds below.

There was an odd assortment of old automobiles, fire engines, and horse-drawn carriages. Portraits of all the Jesse James family members, and those responsible for his demise. There were many murals; one about a famous amusement park which was shut down, one about mob violence in the city, when Confederate-minded citizens did not respect legal process. A room with old radio equipment. A room with miniature trains and railroads, a room with antique toys, the re-constructed Walter Cronkite dentist office, an apothecary, a dress shop (women’s clothes), a saloon, the main offices of the Pony Express firm, several antique pianos and pump organs [to be treated like another man’s wife -- look and admire, but don’t touch], old telephone sets, and old telephone switching equipment, actual murder weapons, and instruments of crime, with articles about the crimes. A large ballroom - no longer used for dancing, but for murals and some folding chairs for people to sit at special meetings.

Some suggest the Patee House is one of the best museums in the country, and I agree. If I had another day to roam around St. Joseph, there are many more museums to see, many more hiking and biking trails, and there just might be some good restaurants hiding in the fringes.

It was another slow, lonely ride back to the truck stop. My socks were sweaty, and my formerly-adorable boots were rubbing a nasty blister onto my left heel, each time I dismounted to walk. On this leg of the trip, I discovered another urban bicycle path, which has limited access. Followed the path for over a mile, and kept hoping to see a crossroad, with street signs, so I could figure out where I was. There were no crossroads - and no sounds of motorized vehicles - until I got to the end of the path. This was close to the K-mart where I purchased the bicycle.

The floppy pants legs were annoying me, so I decided the next time I went for a ride, I would wear shorts, with extra pockets, to store some necessities (like an extra pair of socks). I don’t think it’s too extravagant, to want a good athletic supporter, to avoid getting pinched in my private area. I don’t think it’s too extravagant to also want some light athletic shoes, to enhance the bicycle riding experience. Still not sure if getting the bicycle was too extravagant.

Found the shorts and shoes I wanted in Wal-Mart.