Our Walter Eugene spent his own money for a new, black, single speed bike from Montgomery Ward. Later he bought a used three-speed Schwinn. In 1963 after our bike tour in southern England Walt saw the advantages of derailleur gearing that European racers used. He then bought a used 10-speed Western Auto bike, although I argued against it saying that road grit would destroy those exposed gears and that the chain would wear out as it made a noisy climb from sprocket to sprocket. We finally OK’d his buying this bike with dropped handlebars and hard saddle. I expected him to discover that a fool and his money are soon parted.

We were saving for a second bike tour in Britain and were buying bikes by mail and phone from Rattray’s Bicycle Shop in Glasgow, Scotland. In March we ordered handmade Carlton bikes with derailleur gears for Nancy, Walt and our friend, Barbara, but mine would be a three-speed with pedal brakes. Rattray’s elderly gentlemen added one hand brake, knowing that “you can teach old dogs new tricks.” They advised, “The first three days on the saddle will be murder, and then you’ll be quite comfortable.” They were right.

Walt spent hours in British bike shops asking questions and learning as we toured for 69 days that summer. Jac~k Hearne, the mechanic who went along with the British racers to keep their wheels rolling, spent a half-day with this 5-foot, 2-inch-tall U.S. youngster who was so eager to learn.

The girls and I waited patiently a number of times, wandering around in the shops and flea markets, while Walt was learning from experienced mechanics and dealers.

Back at school that fall, Walt went out for basketball for the last time. “Mom, let’s face it.” he said, “I’m a runt.” His junior high coach bragged, “He’s a scrappy little guard,” and he had earned a letter in track, for pole vaulting. But in 10th grade he would compete with juniors and seniors who towered above him. I understood because I’m the shorty from whom he inherited his height. He yearned for a lightweight French Peugeot PX-10 bicycle with sew-up tires that he saw in England and in a Springfield bike shop. It cost about twice as much as the Carlton, but he finally saved enough money and bought i~t.

That fall, 1966-67, he and other local cyclists formed Boone’s Lick Hostel Club, planning lots of bike trips and other outdoor activities. The group’s first “tour” was when six cyclists put their bikes on the Wabash ba~ggage car and rode the train as we had sometimes done in Europe. They unloaded the bikes at Centralia and pedaled the 20 miles back to Columbia. Biking was catching on locally and nationally, too.

Club buddies wanted water bottles in racks on their bikes. They also wanted cycling gloves and covers for their brake levers and other equipment not then available in Columbia. Walt visi~ted with Ed Morton, the Springfield dealer, who sparked the idea of the youngster’s selling bikes and supplies in Columbia. Promising to keep his grades up, he rented a vacant barber shop on Hickman Avenue and erected a sign: “Walt’s Bike Shop.” A few months later, a window banner announced “Eleven New Bikes Arrived Today.” Business boomed. He had a tiger by the tail.

Many years later he sold the business to Frank Morris, who employs two of our grandsons: our daughter’s son, Sam Russell, and Walt’s son, Peter Gerard. Time marches on. Walt is now an assistive technology specialist for Rusk Rehabilitation Center creating individual aids for people with handicaps.