Bud & Me
Page 12
The last few days of our ride covered familiar territory. We went through Erie, Pennsylvania, then into New York, and through Buffalo, Syracuse and Albany. We saw Niagara Falls again, a real treat, and we rode on 300 miles of macadamized roads, a smooth, paved surface, that allowed us to go 65 or 70 miles an hour. It was like being on the Indianapolis Speedway again. Every 50 miles or so, we stopped to sightsee and advertise our cycles.
Being in New York City was like greeting an old friend again. We were salesmen now, not celebrities as before, and we didn’t have to deal with reporters and crowds. I missed the excitement, but all in all I liked it better, because we were free to do as we pleased. We gave Anton a grand tour during the two weeks we stayed there.
The Frank B. Widmayer Indian Motocycle Agency at 2312 Broadway, kept Anton’s motorcycle and shipped our two-seater back to Oklahoma. At the end of two weeks, we rode the train home. Although we didn’t realize it at the time, our cross-country travels as the “Abernathy boys” were at an end.
7
EPILOGUE
I was nine years old in the summer of 1913 when Bud and I rode our Indian motocycle to New York. Things changed after that. We spent a lot more time at home, and while life was still exciting, the excitement all took place in a familiar setting.
Bud soon began to show an increasing interest in girls, while I continued for several years to think that was quite foolhardy of him. Dogs and horses, cars and airplanes, were far more interesting to me. I kept on learning, on my own, about motors, propellers, and wings, preparing myself for some future day when I would fly.
Life grew more complex. Teddy was not re-elected. Dad became an oilman, in the risky wildcat business, and cars became quite common in Oklahoma. Our eyes were always on the future. We didn’t think then, about the things we’d learned on our cross-country adventures. But from a perspective of 80 years, it’s clear that there were many lasting lessons on those bumpy rides.
We learned to look a man in the eye, and judge him by the grasp of his hand. Wealth and education aren’t as important as the way a man approaches life, and we came to appreciate a willingness to help. Some of the people who had the least to give, were the ones who gave us the most along the road—food, shelter, and friendship. And when we looked for some good in everyone, we usually found it—even in the bandits we met in New Mexico.
Geography came alive for us. Each trip was an expedition of discovery. I learned all the states, the cities, and the capitals. We saw everything from lead mines in operation, to oil wells being drilled. Bud and I were probably the first children to be fingerprinted.
Through Teddy’s influence and our tours of Washington, we came to admire those who strive for good government. Bud later became a lawyer and served his community as both district attorney and county judge, a leaning surely traced in part to those early lessons.
We learned to endure hardship with patience, especially in those heartbreaking days toward the end of our coast-to-coast trip, when Sam Bass’ death, and our trials in the desert seemed to test us more than we could bear. But we made it through, stronger for having held on. We could, we discovered, do almost anything we set our minds to.
Celebrity status was an eye opener, but Bud and I were so intrigued with the adventure of our lives that we paid little attention to what others thought. Through it all, we were able to stay pretty levelheaded and realistic about ourselves. After our adventures were over, we led rather normal lives, probably because we accepted ourselves as we were. Dad would have never tolerated any other attitude.
Bud and I had ridden horseback from Guthrie, Oklahoma, to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and back; to New York City; from New York to San Francisco, We’d driven a car from New York to Oklahoma, and ridden a motorcycle from Oklahoma back to New York. We’d been royally entertained by some folks, and coldly turned away by others, and we’d always faced the question of whether it was worthwhile to go on. I’m glad we always pressed ahead. That is where the future is.