Pictures from the 14 States in 15 Days

WHO AM I ?

(By Stix Douglas)



As a tradional motorcyclist, I believe all of my life’s experiences have led me upto this point. But somewhere along the way the storys and the biking traditions that I learned and were taught to believe in have been cast to the side, misplaced, or overlooked as unimportant. There is no one carrying on this tradion for this next generation of riders. I am persueing to do that now

I am a long distance TOURING "BIKER" who has been blessed as one of the lucky few that has also had a long history of riding motorcycles, having done so nearly my whole life. The open road has been very good for me and has taken me to places I would have never have thought of going to and I am much richer because of it with memorys of travels from all over this continent.

I set a goal for myself years ago that I just completed before I retired which was, to have ridden in all of the lower forty-eight states. Besides that I have also traveled through five of Canada’s Provinces, and now have set another goal to complete the remaining eight Provinces within the next few years.


I have been participating in HOGs ABC's Of Touring for the past few years now and was one of the Top 12 for United States and Canada in 2006.
Having also received my 250,000 Mile Merit Award from HOG (Harley Owners Group)

So to say I ride a little, might be considered somewhat of an understatement.


Back when I was growing up the goal was to ride and live to become a “Wise Old Biker. I have just been blessd to have made choices that have allowed me to continue to experience riding throughout my entire life. Because of this I felt I needed to return a little of my fortune to others.

I have been a Certified Safety Instructor and done nearly a weeks worth of training before I worked as a Range Aid at Doc's Harley Davidson in Kirkwood. I then completed a 10 day MSF (Motorcycle Safety Foundation) training with the MMSP ( Missouri Motorcycle Safety Program) in Warrensburg, Missouri in May of 2008.
I took an additional four more days of training with "Harley Davidsons Riders Edge Program" At Prince George, Virginia in June of 2008. Since that time I have stopped teaching.

Even though I prefer and ride alone, the majority of the time, I am saddened to think that many of today’s younger riders will only participate in weekend or group rides. Although there is safety in numbers and everyone can enjoy riding in formation. I only do that with a very few of my riding buddies and it is usually on our longer road trips.

You don’t have to have a group or an organization to be able to enjoy the sunshine and the wind in your face. Hell it wasn’t that many years ago that Harley Davidson used the slogan that still rings true for me today: “The Eagle Soars Alone”.

I am always the one with the dirtiest bike, slopped up by the rain as well as other elements, because I took my chances. You’ll often see my windshield stained with bug juice left on it from the evenings ride the night before.

I believe it is wrong for anyone to apologize or make excuses for when their bike is dirty, just because it’s been ridden. What good is a clean motorcycle if you never go anywhere? You also have to remember that time spent cleaning also means less time spent riding.

I was never a week end warrior, I often rode my bike to work and those 250,000 were before I retired.
I ride because I have always enjoyed it. Not because I had to, or that I need to “prove” anything. It is just important to me, because I found riding an excellent stress reliever when my workday ended I would always look forward to the end of the day and the different variations and routes on the way as I would ride home.



When I first started out riding Harleys I was told: “If you really want to ride a lot you need to have a back up bike.” "In those days "You rIde one bike while you worked on the other."

But since that time and even with all the technical advances, I believe there is still no one bike that can do every kind of riding equally well.
Over the years, I have enjoyed owning a host of different motorcycles and I know it's not the number of bikes that you have that is important but rather the experiences and reasons for having them.

I currently own 4 Harley Davdsons if you count my 1976 XL Sportser that has remained a basket case since Oct of 1997. I had my 1976 FLH Bi Centennial restored and just purchased a 2006 Night Rod (Yes,a water cooled Harley ) And last but not least I have a 2001 Electra Glide Classic that I bought new in May of 2002 which currently has over 157,000 miles on it.






Unlike many riders today, I don’t see any advantages by wearing a Beanie for a helmet. it doesn’t makes you look cool, and why look foolish when you don’t have to? Rather than wear a beanie I wore a white DOT approved helmet loaded with freedom of choice stickers, but to each his own. I agree with those who think it should be those that ride that should decide; not some law made by a congressman who doesn’t. My role now is to lead by example, Safety first.

Having been able to continue to ride motorcycles for decades rather just recently buying into it, requires more than just luck at staying alive. To do so is by a number of pre-determined factors. One of the biggest reasons I am still around and able to ride is I don’t drink and ride. Period. And I don’t condone those that do.


It’s still my goal to become that ”Wise Old Biker” and not by dying as a result of stupidity brought on by drinking alcohol.

Sure I know I have offended all of you that choose to drink, but I had made my choice not to. The way I look at it is...He whom lives longest, rides the furthest and therefore wins. To me it can’t be any simpler than that. I can always find more important things to do then leave my bike parked out in front of a bar.

We should all believe in the simple philosophy that motorcycles are intended as well as are made for the purpose to be ridden.

I run loud pipes and yet I try to be considerate. I have them because I am heard and noticed where it counts, on the highway. Not at some stoplight trying to draw attention to myself or to be obnoxious in causing an unnecessary distraction.
Because of the volume my loud pipes have saved me on countless numbers of times from “cages” (automobiles) that would have run me over while merging into traffic who would otherwise not have even noticed me.

Another major difference between myself and other “Motorcycle enthusiasts” is that I’m more into the long haul rather then the quarter mile.

I find it aboslutely basphone and totally and utterably absurd to have a “Touring motorcycle” in the back of a truck or a trailer, unless it is being taken in for repairs. This seems to be an acceptable practice that many others seem to think is alright.
I am NOT ALONE even the guys I ride with find it offensive. Many bikers in other parts of the country don’t give this a second thought when considering going to motorcycle events. To those I got to ask, Why pretend to ride if you don’t?” Why have a Touring bike if you’re not going to use it for its purpose?

As you can see I am serious and passionate about riding motorcycles. I dare to travel on two wheels and by choosing to do this it has allowed me to go places and see some things at countless places that very few would ever have the opportunity to see, and I am richer for it.
Others can only dream of the beauty or the experences that await them. It is a choice that each of us make. I challenge each of you to make that choice.

I still collect my pins and patches at motorcycle events, especially those that I had to travel long distances to get to. However, My treasures aren’t those pins or patches, but rather the memories of those experiences.


As it was explained to me by one of my “true brothers in the wind”, it’s not the destination that’s important, but rather, it’s the journey.

We all need to come to the realization that it’s not so important where you have been, compared to the thoughts of where you are going.

Over time, we all become older and I would like to think more well seasoned with our riding experiences. But more importantly, I hope we all become a little wiser because we ride.
Be Safe
Who am I? I’m STIX Douglas and I ride.

The JOYBONE Band Myth or Legend?

JOYBONE was a phenomenon like no other. Ahead of their time these three musicians combined musical talents to form a trio, which has NOT been duplicated before or since. JOYBONE made history that many still talk and ask about even today.















Having pre arranged and previously recorded its music prior to playing it out live, the group, focused its attention on its own unique style and formed a new category called Blues Rock that was as different as any in the music world and yet it was as if it had been there all along. Each song was then meretriciously perfected and performed with precise delivery, which kept evolving because of their constant and unrelenting rehearsal schedule. Perfectionists to a fault each member also had multiple experiences in a studio-recording environment.














Quick wit and its combination of musical backgrounds in a number of various bands over the years this group was instantly well liked and became a huge crowd-pleasing hit as soon as they were playing out.
Having musicians coming from that level of professionalism is how the musical groups like the Eagles formed. Coming from a recording studio first was a rather different approach to live performing that was a real treat to the ears. Something that helped in getting the band JOYBONE its over all sound established so quickly.

Known for its combination of Blues Rock mixed with Party music, the bands natural vocal abilities became a staple of their overall sound.

Harmony’s and the increasing amounts of pre arranged musical repertoire. The group thrilled and fascinated its audiences with many fun filled and cleverly pre rehearsed songs and gave them a delivery of a much larger sounding group.
















Packed in some of the smallest clubs this group continued to pull a crowd wherever it went.Their inventory of musical selections grew and seemed to only add to their arsenal of expertise.

Its popularity continued long after the group stopped playing out live.
Its underground fan base was one of the first to use e mails in its advertising of where the band could be heard with an ongoing update of performances as well as Invitations and band schedules that were available to the crowds at each performance.

Its fan base still continues to this day. Although the group has worked on recording an original CD of its own material, Studio time and lack of availability have kept it from being finished.
The possibility of a new release is still in question.

Full Circle Continued

I Gasped for air as if it were my last breath?  Immediately my mind raced and I started to panic as I thought I was going to die. I fought for air for several minutes in what seemed like hours. I was in a panic. Stunned and going into shock I just had been power slammed by My '85 Harley Davidson motorcycle,

I opened My eyes and started to roll over but felt excruciating pain from where the motorcycles exhast had burned me accross my lower back.

The only photo I had was of the video when I brought it home 7/93

I had only had the Evolution engine motorcycle for a little over 6 weeks, having traded my first Harley a beautiful completely redone and upgraded 1976 Liberty for what was actually a rather ugly looking plain Jane , and what everyone else refered to as a Old mans bike.  I had considered the paint hideous. I described it to everyone  as Beige & Puke.
I had just returned from my second trip of Sturgis having ridden  the thousand miles there without stopping for what would be the first of many. But now I was on the steps of Deaths door,

How did I end up here?

I had been working the third shift at Chrysler on the rail docks, driving a 8000 lb. Fork truck unloading Rail Road "Box Cars" and virtually was skipping out a bit after lunch and several hours early for this nights joy ride home.

It was a warm night and I hadn't worn my leathers , I was still getting use to the bike and was doing some serious leaning on the twist and turns. The narrow paved county road was a bit rough in spots. I had been pushing higher speeds while learning  to get a better feeling of the way the bike handled.

While speeding  into a backwards S turn I met up with what I wanted to call a OJ Simpson Ford Bronco. A look alike which was straddling the center of the road. I quickly leaned it over onto its right side and then had to overly compensate to keep it on the road leaning back to its left side.
I can still remember those moments.  Pea gravel  scrapping the floor boards sparking. Before going air born.  Like a idiot not knowing any better I held on.

What happened next I still can't quite figure out. It was like a case of suspended animation. I would have had to have gone over the handle bars. I felt the helmet twisting and forced my head to turn before the bike Power slammed  me into the dirt. The exhaust burnt into my back  before lifting off.  I was unable to breathe as I turned and watch my motorcycle bouncing wildly before getting the front wheel and front forks hung up in a barbwire fence. Locked in with full throttle the bike continued to bounce its rear wheel up and down digging into the dirt a little deeper with each time the tire hit until finally coming to rest sitting up straight.  The bikes rear section of frame resting on the ground. and the bike now idling.

Nothing hits home as much as when you have a near death experience. or the opportunity of meeting your maker and knowing it.Being dazed and confused is not only a temporary mind set but can be more permanent as it carried over after the accident.

I kept trying to pull in air and was unable to walk.  I began to craw and dragged myself closer to the front steps of the house who's front yard I had torn up and landed in.

When I finally managed to catch My breath,  I begin to think " I can't call for an Ambulance" I can't tell anyone at work about this or the actual time it happened. If word got back to any of my supervisors I would be terminated.


I was fortunate to not have any visible broken bones but had a herniated disk in my lower back. There was also the issue of 2nd and 3rd degree burns on my back from the exhaust that kept reminding me from laying too comfortably on my back.


Once I had called my buddy Mike Bertolini. He had gone down and picked up the motorcycle with his enclosed trailer. He brought it home to me and unloaded it without charging me anything.


I was still hurting so bad I couldn’t even get up to go see it or much less to help him with being able to unload it.


For the next several weeks I was in limbo uncertain as to what to do. My mind flashed back to remembering Skip and how badly he had looked the day I went to see what would later become my first Harley. It seemed like so long ago they were different times. I was mirroring the fact that this was my accident


Over the course of the next several weeks, I was looking forward to being able to lie down to just relax and not move, but that wouldn’t be happening.


The Rail Dock Rats from work kept calling. They wanted me to come back immediately before there were any personnel changes could happen on the dock. They offered me the opportunity to just do the checking of visual paperwork of the inventory of the rail cars without having to get up and down or drive my fork-truck.


I was dumbfounded because I didn’t know if I would have been willing to have done the same for someone else. Looking back on it now I went back to work way too early. I was in no shape to be even have been walking around much less working. They kept me active but it was also the end of an era

I had to go through a lot of soul searching then. I had too many unanswered questions and doubts that took a lot of time and consideration to mull over and just sort through.

Why had this happened to me? What was I gonna do next? What does all of this mean? What should I be doing now? Where do I go from here? Why am I alive? Why didn’t I die? What’s my purpose? What have I not done? What do I need to do? How do I move on? When will I get over this? But the one that really stuck seemed to be Why am I alive?

Besides my injury’s mentally I had a chip on my shoulder. The more I thought about it the more research I done in my own mind.


When I finally felt up to it I called my mechanic buddy Butch. I was still unsure of myself and had to have an open discussion with him. At first there was a lot of uncertainly. But Butch said something rather profound to me and in doing that sparked other thoughts. In so many words he said something to the effect that it was your choice you have to make the decision yourself. Do you quit? Take the insurance check and walk away? No one would think any less of you if you did. This is where you get off the bus, and or checkout. Many would walk away and wouldn’t put themselves back in the situation of ever riding again. That choice is yours.


My mind flashed back to a guy whom I knew at work named Rusty. Having had a Harley at one time and having given it up.  Rusty spent time always thinking and reminiscing about those days and in some ways I thought of him as a “has been”. Which in my definition meant would not ride again or it would never be the same again. Rusty was someone who had gone on to and put away those freedoms and those feelings and had allowed them to become fond memories.


The risks maybe to great to continue. Something this devastating takes time to process. I can’t make that decision for you. No one would think any less. You have to make that choice on your own.

Father and Son

There is always something that we are most proud of. I actually am the most proud of My one and only son James.  I look at this photo now in retrospect.  Not a lot of "bikers" today would even know or recognize the motorcycle.
But it was significant because it was My first Harley that I had bought on Columbus Day back in 1991 I had purchased  the motorcycle wrecked .  James was so small then, but he would often come out to the little 10x12 Morgan shed where I would work on it to check on me and my progress.

I repaired it and rode it "by myself "  the first time to Sturgis, in South Dakota. While there I bought James the little leather riding jacket that he wears in the pic. Shortly after returning the Shovelhead motor snapped a camshaft bolt and  I had to have someone else do major engine work. It was down throughout the winter, and was rebuilt  with several upgrades making it even better than it was then when it was new.
This was one of the first pictures after I got it back. A pogo stick and a small solo seat was added along with a clear windshield in place of the full fairing that came later. The bike had also been repainted.

 I had padded a small beanie helmet with a neckerchief bandanna so James head would fit in it snug. We went for his first Harley ride around the driveway while he held on to the acorn decorated gas caps.  His arms were too short to comfortably reach the handlebars.

My son has since grown up and moved out on his own. This 76 Liberty edition was later traded in for another Harley.  I am still in possession of two other 76 Harleys.. A 76 XL Sportster and also a 1976 Bi Centennial FLH.

I was lucky enough to have become a motorcycle safety instructor. For a period of time also teaching  in the Riders Edge Program with Harley Davidson It was then and there that I also got to teach James how to ride.
 He doesn't own his own motorcycle, at least not yet, but accassionally we'll still go for a ride together him on his dad's O6 Night Rod . While I am on my O1 Electra-Glide Classic.
 It hard to remember when he was that small.  But this photo will alway remind me that it's a father and son moment,  one that I will always cherish.

Wildfire

Wildfire original  members Greg Ray, Stix Douglas and Ted Hamilton

Wildfire on the steps of Missouri's state capital

Stix Douglas Greg Ray & Ted Hamilton hamming it up on the road in Jefferson city.

Wildfire band meeting after running up a phone bill and talking about it with our agent.

Creek Water Special

Creek Water Special     September 1975 - August 1976
Band members included  from top left Jere Tyer, Dennis Watson, Ted Hamilton, Monty Hall and Stix Douglas.

Creek Water Special started shortly after the school year started in the summer of 1975.
The group performed for a number of functions including several Variety and Talent shows.
This photo was taken shortly before performing for their first public performance at Northwest High Schools Variety Show in April of 1976.
The group done several private partys and performed for the March of Dimes before disbanding in late summer of 1976. The group done a mixture of songs in both Country and Country Rock venues.

Ted Hamilton and Stix Douglas went on to perform together in more than a half dozen different bands over the next several years in the late '70's & early 1980's.

MOONLIGHT RAMBLE

As I slowly raised the wooden single pane glass window of my upstairs bedroom, I was already thinking to myself, What if I get caught? My parent's bedroom was directly below mine. What if they hear me or if they find out? They'd kill me.

A few weeks earlier my Dad had bought my brothers and I a new Rupp "Scrambler" mini-bike that we were to share. In exchange, we had to give up on our playing Khoury League baseball which  I had played for more than  three years prior. 
We were told that we weren't allowed to ride it on the graveled county road in front of our house.  Although we owned a little more than an acre of ground It wasn't long before I got bored with the novelty and the limited area to ride it

Once  the window screen was removed, I set it down lightly on the floor. Then while lifting my leg to the opening I nearly fell over backwards.   I lost my balance  but breathed a sigh of relief once I  caught myself.  I can only imagine what it must of looked like standing on one leg.with the other propped up on the window sill.  I then had to crawl through the small opening one leg at a time.

I  failed to notice the distance from the window to the roof was greater then the distance  from the window to the floor from inside the bedroom. It not only made it more difficult  to climb out, but I nearly fell out onto the roof. It made it nearly impossible to keep from making a sound.:

Once out on the roof my eyes had to adjust. There were a few things that I quickly noticed.  One was the total silence. Another was my neighbor's dusk-to-dawn light.  But  what was the most noticeable of all was the full moon that was shining from a perfectly clear night sky.

While stepping across the slanted roof, my shoes kept scuffing the rolled roofing. I had to slow down and be more careful with my footing.

My brother Gary had been the one who had inadvertently  given me the idea. He had shown me that my bedroom window wasn't sealed shut like I had originally thought.  He had been caught by Dad out on the carport roof in broad daylight a few days before. 

Because of his discovery, and punishment it sparked my idea of an escape.. He had also given me a reason and the initial idea for a ride.  I would have to be careful and had started planning this adventure. 

I had gone so far as to having practiced climbing upon the corner of the carport roof and then jumping down to the ground several times. I had to make sure that I wouldn't hurt myself in the six foot drop. Then to know how to make sure I could climb back up for my re-entry.

My heart was racing and beating harder with each step I took.  It was nearly impossible to keep from making a sound.  Suddenly I remembered the neighbor's dogs . If they heard me or started barking it would be all over. Cause once they started  they wouldn't stop or shut up until they had awakened everyone.   I couldn't take any unnecessary chances otherwise I would surely be caught. 

Once down off the roof and now inside the carport it dawned on me. I really hadn't thought this plan through enough. The mini-bike was parked pointed nose first in the wrong direction.  

To get it out now I would have to straddle it while pushing it backwards. There was only a narrow passage from between my dad's car and the wall of my parent's bedroom. 

One of my parent's bedroom windows was right there.  I struggled with the dilemma.  I could have stopped there and then I suppose but no, I kept going. 

 The beads of sweat were now rolling off me while getting the mini-bike out. My legs strained as I wiggled it backwards and forwards maneuvering the mini-bike carefully away from the car and finally out of the carport. It took a lot longer and was a much slower process then I thought.

There had hardly been enough time to have caught my breath before getting it turned around .  I pushed off and started duck walking along with it.  Gradually picking up enough speed to for it to coast on its own as it descended the steep grade down and onto the grass. It was quieter cutting across the front yard than taking the gravel driveway.
I coasted as far as possible before coming to a stop.. Once I crossed the bank and the ditch it would be smooth sailing on the county road.  There was a very long and even steeper hill after that.

Keeping the knobby tires of the Rupp  Scrambler on the packed tire tread areas of the road kept  it rolling smoothly without making hardly any noise.  

As the speed of the mini-bike increased, I was finally able to catch my breath as the cool breeze of the wind could be felt across my face.  I still hadn't started the motor yet. Once down the hill the county road leveled off slowing the mini-bike before finally coming to a stop.  It took a couple of pulls on the starter rope for the Tecumseh motor to start and I began my adventurous ride.

 The hair on my arms and on the back of my neck stood up once the engine started. It was in the darkness of the shadows that were being cast from the large cedar trees that lined both sides of the road that my ride really began.

 Suddenly while moving the road became much brighter.  The full moon was now lighting the way, since the Scrambler had no headlight or tail light.

It was a rather warm summer night, nearly perfect for a ride. Perhaps if I had thought about it I would have taken a jacket, because the breeze made it a bit cool.

I really had no idea of where I was headed.  I was free and I was riding with the wind in my face for what felt like the very first time.  It was as though I was experiencing real freedom and thrilled but at the same time afraid of making a mistake. I couldn't help myself, but I kept going.  It was a  little over a mile later when I came to the crossing of the main highway.  I realized once I crossed  it there was no turning back. I rode on for several  more miles, heading into and around two large lake subdivisions and many of their side roads.

There wasn't any traffic and it was way after midnight. There was no one to show off to,. No one would know. I had already ridden for more than an hour all over the place, before realizing it would just be a private moment. One that I wouldn't really get to share with anyone.. That's when the novelty of the ride started to wear off and when reality started to set in.

After leaving the paved roads of the subdivision  I returned to the graveled ones on my way back.  I began to think of the next task. returning home and deciding what to do next. I hadn't gotten this far along with my planning.  Now I was thinking how to get the Rupp  back undetected?

My mind began short circuiting with what ifs? I started to worry and then began to panic the further I rode.   It was just beginning to dawn on me that I had not checked or added any fuel to Rupp. There wasn't any fuel gauge, and no real way of knowing how much gas was left or if it was enough to get home on..There was no way of knowing. What if I ran out of gas before I made it back home? 

 Pulling off to the shoulder near where I had crossed the highway seemed like a good place to stop and check.  Pulling off the cap to the gas tank to have a look inside didn't help. It was so dark nothing could be seen. I poked my finger into the opening and felt nothing. Shaking the mini-bike from side to side only a little spec of gas popped up when it splashed. There was hardly any fuel left in the tank. Now what? 

My mind wouldn't shut off and kept asking questions. Would there be enough gas to make it back? Perhaps, but I would also need to be just as quiet while returning it as when I had taken it.  I sat for awhile mulling over my situation. Contemplating what to do next.

Taking the highway back meant riding more than a mile mostly uphill to the other end where the county road crossed the main highway. If I could get it there, I could simply coast it since it was downhill most of the rest of the distance home.
The longer I sat there the more clear that it became that returning the same route home ws now completely out of the question . Realizing that there really wasn't any other possiblities to consider.

While turning onto the concrete pavement of the highway my senses were immediately heightened. To even try to attempt this was beyond anything I had ever done. It meant going for broke. My mind went into hyper drive. Had I become delusional?

The questions kept popping up in my mind. What if I were caught? What if a cop saw me? Or more importantly what if I wasn't seen at all and had a car come up from behind me?  Or worse was there a chance that I could get run over?

Twisting the throttle for all it was worth,  The Rupp Scrambler sped up while at the same time  it climbed in elevation on the highway. I was now riding it faster than I ever had before. It was thrilling. But since it was the longer way home, I also had more time to think and for even more anxieties.

I kept telling myself that all I would have to do was just make it to the top of the hill and it would all work out.  It had a calming effect as I repeated it my mind  If I could just make it there I know I could make it back unannounced.

A few cars had passed by heading in the opposite direction. Their headlights were blinding.
My nerves were on edge. My heart continued racing but I had to remain focused with the task at hand. The thrill of this ride was taking a toll and was draining me of all of my adrenaline.

It was a real relief once I  made it to the upper end of the county road.  Even though I had finally gotten off the highway there was still a ways to go. There were a few flat spots before starting the homeward downward decent. 
 As I was making my way down the last hill, I mistakenly shut the motor off prematurely to start coasting which caused the bike to come to a stop much earlier than I had anticipated. 

It forced me to push it further even though it was on a long and straight mostly level grade. I would then have to push it the rest of the way home. The longer I pushed the more I began to realize that I wouldn't be able to get it up the driveway and back into the carport.

The thrills of this ride had exhausted me and I began to re-evaluate the situation.  The intensity of everything had drained me of all of my energy.  I made it back  to the bottom of the front yard undetected.  As I tried to push it up the front yard in the grass I fell over with it, exhausted. I couldn't pick it up much less push it any more.

 I was drained. I did all I could do, but it was of no use. It's weight was just too much. I left it there laying down in the grass of the front yard and snunk back in using the metal barrel I had used to practice with.  I climb back up on the roof and then climbed back though the window to my room.

I can remember the next day my Dad yelling at my brother who got blamed for leaving the mini bike out overnight since he was the last one to have ridden it the evening before. I don’t know if anyone ever really figured out or knew anything about my daring Moonlight Ramble.   It was just the start. It was what made me…me.  I have been addicted to riding in the wind ever since.

There is nothing quite like the feeling of freedom and the wind in your face.

Stepping out on the edge and taking chances must of been embedded in my DNA.  It was in my blood. Riding alone in the wind meant something even way back then, but doing it late at night and at the age of 12 was an experience.  It was a moment I wouldn't trade now for the world. 

What amazes me is all of the things I should have thought about BEFORE going on such a ride.  I was lucky because there were so many things that could have gone wrong. What if I had run out of fuel, broke down or had an accident?
What was I thinking...

What ever I was thinking has stayed with me to this day. I still enjoy the wind in my face and that feeling of total freedom. 
May all your days be full of sunshine and your nights all have full moons...

My First Two Wheels

My family had just moved into a small rural town in Missouri called Dittmer.  I would be starting school later that fall. This was the summer when I came upon my first encounter with two wheels.
I was very surprised to see several older neighborhood kids  riding their bicycles out on the gravel road in front of our house one day.
Being the new kid would be difficult enough. They all looked like they were having a lot of fun and I was missing out.
Watching them riding their bikes fascinated me. I thought I could do that I was big enough I should be able to go bike riding too. Only thing was I didn't have a bicycle.
You could only imagine my utter disappointment when I went to my parents and asked them for a bicycle and was immediately turned down.
It really didn’t matter that I didn't have a bicycle of my own as much as I didn’t know how to ride one even if I did.  But how could I learn to ride a bike if I didn’t have one? None of the other kids trusted me or were willing to let me borrow theirs.
My parents might have had all of the best intentions and although our family was poor, it was explained to me that there just wasn’t going to be any money for a bicycle.
Nothing could stop my imagination or keep me from thinking about it. On foot I knew I could only walk or run so fast but if I had a bicycle I could virtually fly. Feeling the wind or breeze in your face has a certain magic to it. It inspires the imagination.
It wasn’t so much about the speed but the ability and to have the power to propel you from one destination to another. With a bicycle meant was I could go places.
Seeing my dilemma over the course of the next several weeks my mother who was a crafty and thrifty woman had come up with, an alternative idea just before my birthday and had asked me if I might be happy with a used one.
Perhaps there was a misconception between my mother and the neighbors thinking it was for her.
Maybe that was her original intention in the first place.
Sure enough when the time came I got the birthday surprise of my life. It was a bicycle alright but not just any bicycle it was one of the biggest and ugliest I had ever seen. It was very large, and powder blue in color, with 28 inch wheels but what was worse was the fact that it was a "Girls bike."

It looked something like this only much older and rusted.

It had come complete with a front wire basket, white handgrips and streamers and even a rear luggage rack. At first I was shocked and in disbelief, it was just so big, too big and it was a heavy monstrosity.
At first all I could do was push the bike around and occasionally I would bust my chin on the yoke of the handlebars. At other times I would straddle the frame and try to run before climbing on the pedals but the point of the seat would hit me in the middle of my back between my shoulder blades. Sometimes I would trip or fall and abruptly hit my tail bone on the frame or end up straddling it with my butt on the chain guard, and would end up scrapping my knees on the ground.
The longer and harder I tried the more painful it was becoming. I was beginning to think that it could only be ridden on flat surfaces like asphalted and on urban streets and there wasn't any of that out anywhere close. It just wasn't a bicycle that could easily be ridden on grass or on uneven gravel roads.
I went to my dad to plead my case for a different bike. His response was: “You wanted a bike you got one, now learn how to ride it.”
My sheer willpower was dwindling fast since I was becoming the laughing stock of the neighborhood.  No one else would have to go through this sort of humiliation. The harder I tried the more frustrated I was becoming.
My only female cousin Diane, who was several years older than I, had come out to stay for a visit. She had seen and overheard the other kids in the neighborhood poking fun at me and had decided to come to my aid.

Together with her help we removed the wire basket, the steamers and the rear luggage rack off the bicycle. Diane stood up and supported the bike while facing me. She held the front wheel tight between her legs and balanced it while telling me to grip the handlebars, and to climb on. and to put both feet on the pedals. Once I done that she held the bike still and then leaned it over from one side to the other while telling me to keep my balance.

Next we push the bike to the top of the front yard and then once or twice while she held one hand onto the handlebar and the other on the back of the seat she would run along side with me. By the third time she pushed off and let go and told me to pedal which I done.

Suddenly I realized I was riding the bike. It was hard to concentrate with a smile across my face. I was accomplishing what I had thought had been nearly impossible.Once I had coasted to near the bottom of the yard I would turn around. What I couldn't peddle I would have to get off and push the rest of the way.

With each trip I got a little more confident. It only took a few times and then it wasn't nearly as hard or as far to push the rest of the way back up the yard.

Next I would venture out onto the gravel road in front of our house. There was only a small area of level ground to ride on. Slowly and one by one the rest of the other neighbor hood kids came out to join me.
Because I had learned how to ride a bike, I felt triumphant, a little braver, and a lot more adventurous.

Jimmy’s First Fish

By STIX DOUGLAS



One of my earliest memories began on a hot summer day in the southern hills of Missouri just outside the Jefferson County line near a town called Koester Springs:



It was a long drive to my mothers Aunt Mammies, on a very dusty gravel/ dirt road that ran threw a narrow valley for more than a few miles. There were only a few houses along the way spaced at what seemed like a mile or so apart. Log cabins, old ones, put up before the Great Depression, were nestled between the trees that had grown around there. The little homes were placed in such a way as to make it look almost magical to me.



There were natural springs flowing up through the ground and the crystal clear water had a trough like box that was made of concrete collecting it that would hold several hundred gallons before it was routed through a channel ending in some vegetation. I learned this was called water crest, a plant that only grows in fresh water under those conditions, convincing me even further that this was a special place. There was a long handled metal cup for anyone to dip in and drink the pureness of natures own spring water.



As I stated, it was during the summer; the cloud of the gravel road would leave a trail of lingering dust if you followed someone, causing you to slow a bit and stay further behind. Once we got to Aunt Mammies there was a very wide and shallow creek to cross. This was before there were many formal bridges so they had a place to cross the creek upstream from the house with a small make shift double log and rough cut lumber bridge you could walk across with out too much fear of falling but without the luxury of a handrail.



It seemed that we had passed Mammies house while on the road, but then circled back across the stream onto the other side and kind of back track to park in what I thought was the grass.



The grass grew on this south facing hillside and seemed to bring a comfortable carpet of greens to walk on. It was mowed only with a manual grass mower; the old push type without a gas or electric engine. The house was on a steep hill and what I remember was a deepened water hole in the spring fed creek made of solid stone or rock that had been cut out by the years of water running up over it. The impression wasn’t really all that large but the bank then dropped off a few feet to the water level.



We had come to Aunt Mammies for a family gathering and a dinner after church. It was a festive like event. And everyone seemed to be in the best of spirits.



I hadn’t been there long and was somewhat intrigued with the water. The sun was shining and reflecting onto the rock bank which I noticed when we drove up.. I had asked it there might be any fish in it.



Trying to help with a boy’s imagination and I suspect to keep me from being underfoot the relatives suggested that I go fishing before we ate. Not knowing much about fishing, and not having seen too many fishing poles in my life at that point other than the older cane poles I began to look around for something to fish with. I knew I needed some string and was given something like kite string to use.



I was offered bread and told to make dough balls. I had no way of keeping the bait balls on the sting so another search began looking for a hook. What was found to use was a baby diaper pin. A rather large one too I might add. It was attached to the end of the string and I was all too happy to try my fancy rig out.



I asked for assurance that if I caught any fish would the ladies would fix it for the dinner and was convinced that I they would. Little did they know the determination and fixation of this little boy, this was one instance of many in underestimating my abilities.



I was happy, and going fishing. I had lay down on the bank of the creek and looked down into the crystal clean and pure water. I could easily see that there was at least one fish in there. One VERY BIG fish.



After several attempts with the bait falling off I ran out of the dough ball bait, and was still determined to fish, just tossing the hook it by itself. With the sun shining, the reflection on the water, and my tireless concentration, I believe I had more than caught the attention of this fish and had aggravated it into striking.



Once the fish attacked I had a prize. I was ecstatic. I ran up the hill to show off my catch. The women who had all dismissed me with mirth were all in shock.. None of them had thought it was possible and the fish was quickly removed from the hook and returned to the water from where I caught it.



I was confused and upset until I had to have it explained to me by my mother later that the fish I caught was like a family pet, they were aware of it and had been for a very long time. No one had expected such a little boy with such makeshift equipment to land the catch.



To me it is something more than one of my first memories it was my first test of character. Having managed it on my own I felt I had accomplished something others do at a much older age, an understanding of my power. The details of a memory fades but the thought and the catch is still fresh in my mind…No other fishing story could top that first fish.