I grew up, first in a large city, then in a town that was large geographically but small in population. That town would later become, in essence if not in fact, a suburb in the metropolitan area of the city where I lived until I was on the cusp of puberty
So I guess I can't say what it might've been to grow up and ride around in "my little town." My image of such a childhood is a collage of stills and short clips from old calendars, movies and TV shows like "Andy Griffith." I can see a kid riding past wooden houses with yards where clothes flapped in the breeze on my way to a store to pick up a loaf of bread for my mother and some penny candies for myself. Or to the library, to return an overdue book and pay the four-cent fine. Then, past some more houses, barns and fields and on to another store, where the kid in my mind's eye would stop for a bag of potato chips and a bottle of Coke before rolling down to a park.
That's more or less a sketch of the ride William T. Hamilton Jr took in Hopkinton, Massachusetts--"circa 1950." I wonder whether his account of the ride came from a diary he kept as a kid--or whether he's recalling it seven decades later. Either way, his recall of details is amazing.
You just have to love anyone--whether a kid, adolescent or adult--who can end the story of his ride with this: "I take a left onto College Rock Road and go to College Rock to enjoy my chips and Coke. Then it's back on the bike for the 3 mile ride home--most of it uphill."
