The Story of Zeke

Back in '90s, a group of coworkers and I used to mountain bike together regularly. Usually an afterwork blast at St Eds/Big Finn Hill or Tiger Mountain. Actually, I've ridden with coworkers everyplace I've worked from the '80s up to the present. This story however occurred riding with pals from the Mackie Designs days...

We had just finished an afterwork ride at Tiger Mountain, near Issaquah (that be Washington). Tiger Mountain is a very well used mountain biking spot for the Seattle area. The dirt parking lot sits right off busy Highway 18, within sight of speeding cars and trucks. Most of the riding gang had already loaded up their bikes and headed out, leaving me and riding pal Sevrin packing up our cars.

In the lot, some dude was hanging around by his pickup truck - not a mountain biker. Mid 30s, maybe 40, lean, super tan; like he worked outside - maybe a landscaper, roofer, carpenter kind of guy. Fairly normal appearing, but a little off - you could just sense it on first appearance. He tries to engage us in conversation as we change out riding shoes and load up bikes. Me being an idiot and amped from the ride, take the bait and chat with the guy. He's a few car lengths away from me, with Sevrin on the other side of the lot.

"Why don't you guys just ride motorcycles instead of those bicycles?" was part of the "conversation" as I pull off my front wheel and lift the Fat Chance onto the Nissan roof. The guy is freaking me out a little, but this a goof as well. I tell him I used to ride dirt motorcycles and raced motocross years ago. "I used to ride a Honda 90 all over these woods before the mountain bikes took over." - as he starts walking towards me.

Bike loaded, shoes changed, and I'm in the driver seat about four seconds before he gets near my passenger side door. I then lock the passenger door about two seconds before he's trying to get it - pulling on the handle. Holy crap, this dude is a freak.

I look in my rear view mirror to see Sevrin jump out his car and head over, looking pissed. Weirdo Dude stops trying to get into my car and laughs it off. "I'm just F%$@ing with you guys." Nice.

Servrin, who's a pretty big punk rock dude, stops mid parking lot, some words are exchanged, then Sevrin heads back to his car. We both pull out and crank down Highway18 away from Psycho Guy. We drive side by side, shaking our heads and laughing.

I get home and when unloading my bike from the roof, could not loosen the quick release skewer holding the fork to rack. While loading up in a rush and a little freaked about Psycho Dude, I somehow developed super human strength. I guess adrenaline will do that - sorta like when Grandma lifts the Buick off Grandpa after the cheap jack stands collapse. I needed a piece of PVC pipe over the quick release for leverage to pull it loose. Yeah, it was pretty tight.

Next day at work, plenty of laughs concerning Zeke - what we decided to name the guy. Lucky for us, we never ran into Zeke again during future rides at Tiger Mountain.

However, the story of Zeke lives forever.

The Dairy Queen Run

When I was around 11 or 12 years old, back in the '70s, my parents bought me a new bike, which I could pick out myself. My birthday was probably the occasion, though that part is fuzzy this many years later. I wanted a "10 Speed" racer, as called at the time, with drop 'bars and the whole schtick. I remember us driving around in the family car looking for bikes, including my first ever visit to an actual bike shop. The image of bikes on a second tier rack, silhouetted against the shop window is burned into my memory, yet I can't recall the name or where the shop was located.

Alas, this is not a story of acquiring a Raleigh or some other cool bike. Nope, we knew nothing about bikes at the time and left the shop, thinking everything was too expensive. Instead, I wound up with a department store Iverson - bright yellow paint covering lead pipe frame tubing, steel 'bars and single piece crankset - a total, cheap department store tank. No complaints however, ignorance was bliss, and I thought the bike was great. I remember adding a vinyl saddlebag and cheap battery powered headlight to the spiffy new machine.

That cheap Iverson extended the range beyond what I did on my 20" Sting Ray copy. I planned rides in my head to farther locations, thinking I could pack a sandwich in the saddlebag if needed. The need to pull out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich never occurred, but I did push the boundaries of my neighborhood. One of these rides was the Dairy Queen run, maybe 4 miles away. That didn't seem far at the time, an easy ride, but the fact I could get there under my own power was awakening - especially at that young age.

The Dairy Queen was one of those old school types, no inside seating, closed in the winter, owned by an older couple with a German accent. My ride there included two short road climbs on secondary roads, followed by a section of dirt road, past a few large grass fields, which popped me out onto a busier road for a very short stretch - then into the Dairy Queen parking lot. A bit of a scenic adventure for a few short miles. Some spare change in my jeans pocket would then score an ice cream cone. I'd sit in the parking lot admiring my yellow steed while enjoying the frozen treat, before retracing the route home. I can still feel the New Jersey summer heat just thinking about it.

Even today, on bikes with saddles that cost more then the entire Iverson, with thousands and thousands of bicycle miles under my belt, I still feel that sense of freedom and adventure of the Dairy Queen run. After all these years, I'm not yet jaded with anything that revolves around bicycles.