Growing up riding bikes on Kelowna’s roads
What was it like to live as a teenager in the small town of Kelowna (population 8,000) in the early 1950s?
With so much relatively flat land, bikes were easy to get around on.
A story about an old prospector and his cabin at Black Creek got us on our bicycles for a day trip.
I think there was an old log cabin there, but I don’t recall a prospector.
Two things remain vivid.
One was that it was mainly a gravel road and the hills were steep.
Without gears, a couple of the grades were “standup” peddling.
This soon prompted selling my .22 Cooey rifle to pay for the Raleigh three-speed hub bike.
Black Creek Point was nice and green and the highlight on the way back was the sight of hydroplanes racing on Okanagan Lake.
The big “rooster tails” from the propellers were impressive from across the lake.
At Regatta time, it was fascinating to hang out where the boats were being tuned up for the races.
One bike excursion turned out to be very ambitious. This was to McKinley Landing with two bikes taking turns at towing a wagon loaded with camping equipment for an overnighter.
The road was mainly dirt or gravel and mainly rising. So, whether or not I had the three-speed bike, it was a lot of work, but the problem was going down to McKinley.
The wagon would run against the rear wheel and fender.
If it wasn’t too steep, you could peddle fast enough to stay ahead, which was fun. But the steep parts were a problem.
However, at the edge of the road we found a long pole which was secured to the wagon providing a drag.
The weather was great, and we camped on a nice flat patch of grass next to the lake.
During the day we heard some scuffling and crashing up the hill above us. It was some guy our age running down the steep slope which was covered with pine needles.
These were slippery and the fun was to run towards a fence as fast as possible and in dropping down at the last second slide under the lowest wire. As the saying goes today, it was a judgment call.
Hauling ourselves, the bikes and the loaded wagon back up that steep hill, with some switch-back turns was a daunting prospect.
However, a “local” with a pickup truck just happened to be heading to town at the time we were packing up. We enjoyed the ride most of the way back and for pride’s sake rode the last few blocks home.
One time, when the wind was blowing up some big waves, we rode onto the ferry.
There were only two cars and the trick was to try and stay upright with the deck pitching and rolling. The ferry crew couldn’t have cared less and laughed at our stupidity. Other events also included gravity. Peerless Pipe was at the foot of the slope coming down from Knox Mountain.
There, we found a discarded big truck tire. While it took a lot of work, it seemed like a good idea to roll it up the slope, which we did for some time.
Of course, the idea was to roll it back down and in starting slowly it was soon making huge bounces.
Impressed with the speed, we realized too late that it was heading for the “Piece of Pipe” yard.
But there was nothing we could do but watch. There was a high fence with strong wires and metal posts and my hope was that the tire would be on the bounce when reaching the fence.
No, but the wires did not break and two of the fence posts were bent and almost pulled out of their cement footings.
It was on a week-end and no one was there, and so we chose to disappear.
Another event involving implacable physics was completely innocent. Near the Richter Street School, we had come across the remnants of a hot plate with the wire still attached to the ceramic disc.
The wire was just the right length for whirling the disc around to throw it as high as possible.
The school yard provided lots of room and somehow we ended up over on the Richter Street side.
By this time we were getting rather good at throwing it.
Too good—for it went up a long ways and came down on the power lines.
The flash of flame, electrical arcing, and blast were amazing. Fortunately, the wire was not long enough that we became part of the display.
Those three big wires carried very high voltage. And suddenly they didn’t. We immediately ran across the street to Don’s and the cherry tree was in full leaf, where we disappeared.
It wasn’t long before a West Kootenay Power and Light truck came along. The transformer on the pole at the corner had to be fixed or replaced.
Later, all that could be found of the hot plate were a few small shards.
And then there were the full summers. The hot days were spent at the Aquatic Club playing ball tag.
One time Bruce Brydon was up on the 5-metre platform and in not looking, dove into a rowboat. Just a broken arm and collarbone.
At the Regatta’s, the outstanding events were not the “Lady of the Lake” pageants, but the hydroplane races and Ross Lander and his crazy clown-diving routines, including a cannonball off of the ten-metre tower. Another stunt was riding a bicycle off the top.
On the Tuesday evening “Aquacades”, a small group of us did the clown-diving. We were not the big-time act and our mothers made the costumes.
One “dive” I liked was to jump from the 5metre platform to the 3-metre springboard.
When hitting it correctly, it launched you almost as high as the 5-metre level.
The plan was to do a slow forward rotation and hit the water all sprawled out, but more or less feet first.
The dive might have been called a “fullgonner in fall-down position.”
However, an earlier “diver” was slow in getting out of the way and startled I lost my rotation.
Unable to defy gravity, I had turned only enough to hit flat on my back. I swear I bounced but the aches only lasted for a day or so.
Of course, the nicest days were when it was room-temperature outside and we would walk down the main drag, passing the “Golden Pheasant” restaurant on the way to the “Palace Meat Market”.
This was owned by Don Bennett’s family and we would stop by for wieners.
One time we went in and Dave at the back of the shop said, “Bob, come here”. I did. “Hold out your hands”. Not thinking, I did and he slopped some chicken guts into them, which was revolting.
The butchers were in hysterics. After cleaning up, we continued on our way, of course with a couple of wieners. After a while, getting-even came to mind.
A few weeks later, it was hot enough that the big fan in the “Palace Meat Market” near the door was on full blast.
We went in and they gave us a couple of wieners, and we slowly took off the cellophane wrappers.
Then, in getting close to the door, we tossed them into the fan, which flung the bits all over the shop.
The last I recall of that event was running down the sidewalk and around people with Dave after us— shouting and threatening us with a meat cleaver.
More than theatre of the mind, it was street comedy. Age 12 to 14 years—sigh.