When my first cousin Glenda Pittman Oneill and I are 14 years old, we decide to ride our bikes on a Sunday afternoon. There is not much for teens to do in the small town of Pitkin LA.
We do not file a float plan, a flight plan or a bike plan; we do not tell our parents where we are going (mainly because we do not know), and we do not take water bottles. It is Summer time in the South.
So with no cell phone, no bracelets or chips, we take off for adventure.
Where shall we go?
Let's ride down toward Sugartown, which is about eight miles down a rural road. One of us decides that we are so close, we need to go all the way to Sugartown just to say we did!
Or maybe we continued to Sugartown hoping there would be a cafe open, so we could get a drink of water or buy a Coke. We are thirsty.
The small town was known at the time for having the smallest Post Office (in Louisiana?) -- and I do not remember the number of PO boxes it contained. But it was small. If we had had a camera with us, we would have taken a photo to prove we got there.
We make it to Sugartown.
However, there is no cafe or lemon-aid stand; we are now very tired, hot and thirsty.
We have no water bottles.
We need hydration!
I hide my face when I confess that before we make it back from Sugartown to Pitkin, we are desperate enough to stop on the side of the road, cup our hands and drink from the mud puddles in the ditch.
It is called survival.
Whose idea was it to do such a thing? LOL Glenda blames me, because I am older by two and a half months and should have known better.
Find Willie's younger cousin...
Willie of Willie's Tug,
and of Walldog, Willie and Jake
Many Years Ago