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Cruise of the Foo Foo Special Jr, by Art Widner, Jr., 1943
Page 3
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The Cruise of the "FooFoo Special Jr" * * * 3 RI#3 and leave the sprawling warrens behind. I was also glad to stop and rest in the suburb of Cranston to scribble a few postcards and absorb my first liquid since leaving home. I was dry. When I started to drink, the lemonade went "Sssssss!" he hissed. Here I began to realize the enormity of my bone-headedness in taking along a Boy Scout knapsack full of ten or fifteen pounds of clothes. The straps chafed my shoulders, a slight wrinkly in the canvas busily occupied itself with trying to wear a hole in my back, and its weight pulled up the sleeves of my polo shirt, so that I got a wicked three-inch band of sunburn on my upper arms. Shortly after, I passed Zilch's garage. I had always thot that Zilch was as mythical as Milquetoast, Throttlebottom, or Pinchpenny, but it appears to be the goods. I wonder if I would have dared make inquiries if I had thot of it at the time time. As I pushed southward, not so enthusiastically now, the sun came out, and my troubles began. My rear tire had taken a severe wallop someplace and, unbeknownst to me, developed a slow leak. It probably went down to about 20 lbs, where it stayed because the hole was too small to let that low pressure thru. When I began to walk up hills no steeper than those I had previously made in second with ease, I thot I was just getting tired and became quite disgusted with myself. The hills got bigger and the tire got flatter, and I was forced to rest every five or ten miles. After 25 miles or so of this agony I finally discovered my Nemesis. After I had pumped it up I kicked myself across the road and back for not thinking of checking the tires before. The sun was getting low and I still had 20 miles to make New London, my goal for the day. The tire started to leak faster, but now I was on my guard and managed to keep up fair pressure with the help of an occasional filling station. Still, progress was slowed, and the last faint light had disappeared from the sky when I worked up over a hill and breathed a sigh of relief to behold the lights of New London beneath me. NL is a dimout area, and I had a thrilling ride down an extremely steep and lengthy hill, guided only by the taillight of a car in front of me and my own feeble spotlight. Roller coasters are tame in comparison, and I suppose I shouldn't have taken such a risk; but after the laboring up I had done, I hated like the devil to but into my hard-won advantage by putting on the brakes. I didn't realize how bushed I was until I got off and applied for a room at the YMCA. I was ready to drop, but I was also hungry and uncomfortably sweaty and dirty. I managed to summon enuf energy to go downstairs for a shower. I think that shower will always rank high among the most pleasant memories of my lifetime. The hot water soothed both my mind and body into a blissful state of half-consciousness. I stayed under it for at least a half-hour before I could rouse myself enuf to consider the duties of soaping and scrubbing. No better nepenthe for my case could have been concocted by Maal Dweb himself. With 50% of my strength returned, I bethot myself of food. Leaving the locker room, I spied a scale. "Hmm, betcha I lost five pounds today." I had weighed 182 the day before. I surrendered a bas-relief of Honest Abe and watched the pointer bounce around. Gulp! I staggered upstairs, muttering to myself. The pointer had indicated 172! I checked with another scale, and it proved correct. Jeepers! A pound for every ten miles! It's a good thing I wasn't going to the Pacificon via bike. At that rate, according to my carefully checked and rechecked figures, I would have disappeared complete-
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The Cruise of the "FooFoo Special Jr" * * * 3 RI#3 and leave the sprawling warrens behind. I was also glad to stop and rest in the suburb of Cranston to scribble a few postcards and absorb my first liquid since leaving home. I was dry. When I started to drink, the lemonade went "Sssssss!" he hissed. Here I began to realize the enormity of my bone-headedness in taking along a Boy Scout knapsack full of ten or fifteen pounds of clothes. The straps chafed my shoulders, a slight wrinkly in the canvas busily occupied itself with trying to wear a hole in my back, and its weight pulled up the sleeves of my polo shirt, so that I got a wicked three-inch band of sunburn on my upper arms. Shortly after, I passed Zilch's garage. I had always thot that Zilch was as mythical as Milquetoast, Throttlebottom, or Pinchpenny, but it appears to be the goods. I wonder if I would have dared make inquiries if I had thot of it at the time time. As I pushed southward, not so enthusiastically now, the sun came out, and my troubles began. My rear tire had taken a severe wallop someplace and, unbeknownst to me, developed a slow leak. It probably went down to about 20 lbs, where it stayed because the hole was too small to let that low pressure thru. When I began to walk up hills no steeper than those I had previously made in second with ease, I thot I was just getting tired and became quite disgusted with myself. The hills got bigger and the tire got flatter, and I was forced to rest every five or ten miles. After 25 miles or so of this agony I finally discovered my Nemesis. After I had pumped it up I kicked myself across the road and back for not thinking of checking the tires before. The sun was getting low and I still had 20 miles to make New London, my goal for the day. The tire started to leak faster, but now I was on my guard and managed to keep up fair pressure with the help of an occasional filling station. Still, progress was slowed, and the last faint light had disappeared from the sky when I worked up over a hill and breathed a sigh of relief to behold the lights of New London beneath me. NL is a dimout area, and I had a thrilling ride down an extremely steep and lengthy hill, guided only by the taillight of a car in front of me and my own feeble spotlight. Roller coasters are tame in comparison, and I suppose I shouldn't have taken such a risk; but after the laboring up I had done, I hated like the devil to but into my hard-won advantage by putting on the brakes. I didn't realize how bushed I was until I got off and applied for a room at the YMCA. I was ready to drop, but I was also hungry and uncomfortably sweaty and dirty. I managed to summon enuf energy to go downstairs for a shower. I think that shower will always rank high among the most pleasant memories of my lifetime. The hot water soothed both my mind and body into a blissful state of half-consciousness. I stayed under it for at least a half-hour before I could rouse myself enuf to consider the duties of soaping and scrubbing. No better nepenthe for my case could have been concocted by Maal Dweb himself. With 50% of my strength returned, I bethot myself of food. Leaving the locker room, I spied a scale. "Hmm, betcha I lost five pounds today." I had weighed 182 the day before. I surrendered a bas-relief of Honest Abe and watched the pointer bounce around. Gulp! I staggered upstairs, muttering to myself. The pointer had indicated 172! I checked with another scale, and it proved correct. Jeepers! A pound for every ten miles! It's a good thing I wasn't going to the Pacificon via bike. At that rate, according to my carefully checked and rechecked figures, I would have disappeared complete-
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