Of course it had to rain! It always does when one plans a trip as we had. But it wasn’t so bad after all, for a good stiff wind followed and dried the roads to a fair condition in two days, and although Thanksgiving dawned rather cold, it didn’t deter us. The hot breakfast we managed to dispose of drove away all fear of cold, and though our clothing may have made us look uncomfortable, we were anything but that. Needless to say our wearing apparel was not the summer kind. We had planned to spend the day with relatives living some twenty odd miles from the city—a real Thanksgiving dinner would be ours if we would come. There was but one way for us to get there, and that the same as we had used during the spring and summer for our fishing trips, a la motorcycle. But our equipment was slightly different. In place of two fishing rods and a basket, we had a pair of rifles strapped to the handle bars of the tandem attachment. No, we did not expect to shoot our Thanksgiving turkey. Wild turkeys are not quite so plentiful as that in Maryland thin these days. But back to our start. I can’t say just what time it was, but the air was very cold and the roofs and fields were covered with frost. It sure felt more like Christmas than Thanksgiving. The roads seemed unusually smooth and clear, and hardly a vehicle did we pass. At the Maryland line we stopped to change our tag and were again on our way over roads that could have been a little less rough (at least to a tandem rider), for perhaps half a mile, and then on a stretch of the finest macadam. Up and down the hills and around corners we whirled, the crisp morning air cutting our faces and biting our ears until we were forced to pull down our caps. Frosted landscapes don’t feel quite so delightful as they look, but then, I can’t say that I was very cold; it lent spice to the trip. At last, I’m sorry to say, the good road terminated, and the rest of our trip was over an assortment of roads that the Good Road Commissioners would do well to look into. They sadly need investigating.
Riding a motorcycle may not be so bad for Number One, on the front saddle, but let me tell you that Number Two, on the tandem, hasn’t very much of a cinch when the back wheel tries to catch the front one on down grades or play ring-a-round-rosy in mud puddles on the level. It seemed that there was no end to that road in the woods. However, we emerged finally and started on our last, long climb. Fortunately it wasn’t as bad as we expected, and the way our twin roared seemed to show it was glad to be free from the mud. The children and dogs heard us coming and ran out to meet us. I am not at all partial to dogs, and naturally did not greet them as I did the children. I was glad to get off some of my wrappings and make myself at home, while the boys busied themselves clearing the mud from the machine.
After a brief rest we took the rifles and went down to the woods to see if we couldn’t find a squirrel or two, but there was nothing doing. We went back to the house and amused ourselves shooting cans until dinner. And that dinner! There is no use describing it, but I’m quite sure turkey never tasted as good in town. After dinner we just killed time, that’s about all we could do, and then turned in “with the chickens” that evening. The sun was bright Friday morning when I got up, and breakfast over, we again ‘took to the woods’; this time we were more successful, bagging a number of large grays. After dinner we started on our return trip, the dogs keeping us company until it became necessary to drive them back. The bad road had improved considerably since the previous morning, and we made fair time back home, and were able to show that we had not only gone for a Thanksgiving dinner, but had also brought a dinner home with us.
I think I am the only girl who rides a real tandem attachment in Washington, and were more girls to request their friends to invest in them, instead of using improvised seats made of luggage carriers, motorcycling would become more popular among the fair sex, and police officers would not ask for restriction regarding two-passenger machines, as they have done in the National Capital. F.L.C.”
One of many gray squirrels that live in the oak in our front yard. The bane of Pepper’s existence.
© Ride Safe, Vrumblesramblingbikerblog