Whiskey for the Boys...Boy Scouts That Is

 My groovy 3-speed bicycle with big saddle baskets...

Inspired by Scoutmaster Phil's Columbia Cruiser bicycle...his was black, though.....

  I put my big ol’ baskets back on my bicycle.  I had taken them off because I wasn't bike commuting in Florida.  But I need them now here on the High Plains.  They’re the “saddle” kind that fit over the back wheel.  The Lady of the House got them for me a few years ago.  They come in handy these fall afternoons riding home from work, loading up all my cold weather wear that I wore in the morning when it was cold on these fall mornings.

  But when I look at my bike with those big ol’ baskets on it I always flash back to the spring of 1972.  That happens because the bike reminds me of Boy Scoutin’ days, Scoutmaster Phil’s bicycle he took on our Boy Scout troop’s big 60 mile bike-hike down the C & O Canal Towpath right along the Potomac River.

  And a bunch of us got our first taste of hard liquor.

  A bike-hike down the C & O Canal is a leisurely thing, you’re actually riding downhill all the way if you’re going from west to east like we were doing.  It’s a ride through the woods down a wide, smooth dirt path following the river all the way.

  So we loaded up Scoutmaster Phil’s converted school bus for the trip.  Phil and some of the older scouts had spent some time on this ol’ vehicle.  They had ripped out most of the seats and replaced them with bunk beds and some counters.  They painted it red, white and blue.

  The bus came equipped with a bathroom…of sorts.  There was a big ol’ funnel welded to the back corner of the bus.  A copper tube wound out of the bottom of the funnel and down through a hole in floor of the bus.  The copper tube then was welded to the end of the bus’ exhaust pipe.  The bus’ “bathroom” was for taking a leak only.

  Scoutmaster Phil warned us boys not to use the “bathroom” if there was someone following us down the highway.  One of us boys did that and started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “The guy behind us just turned on his windshield wipers!”

  “WHAT’D I TELL YOU ABOUT THAT?” yelled Scoutmaster Phil.  “NOW SIT YOUR ASS DOWN.”

  And so there we were, thundering up the interstate from Roanoke, Virginia on to Cumberland, Maryland and the western end of the C&O Canal trail, all our bikes strapped to the top of the bus, a mess of gear packed inside.

  The plan was for Phil to park the bus in Cumberland and when we were done 60 miles to the east in Hancock, Maryland he’d hitchhike back to Cumberland and bring the bus back to pick us up.

  So off we went down the dirt path to our adventure that March of 1972.

  I had a 3-speed “English” bicycle for my ride, carrying all my gear in a backpack I wore.

  I was envious of Scoutmaster Phil’s brand new Columbia Cruiser one-speed bicycle.  It was big and black… big balloon tires for a smooth ride and a big-ol’ seat for comfort too. 

  And there were those big ol’ saddle baskets in back.  And visible for all to see as he rode on down the way was a half-gallon of Canadian Club whiskey, the official drink of Troop 62, Roanoke, Virginia. 

  Oh I didn’t drink it.  It was a scoutmaster’s drink.  And as I think back here almost 50 years later it was probably enjoyed by the older scouts.  After all, I do believe one of the primary purposes of taking our troop on our monthly adventures was for the scoutmasters to get away from their wives.

  So a good time was had by all as we pedaled through the woods eastward downriver.

  Until…

  On our final stretch, just 20 or so miles from Hancock, clouds came rolling in, the wind picked up and we were caught in an Appalachian Mountain spring squall…cold wind, rain and a bit of snow.

  The whole troop was soaked.

  We rolled on in to the first campground we came to.  We got off our bikes and stood in the rain, it had slacked off some.

  Scoutmaster Phil surveyed the situation.

  “Okay,” said Phil, “Y’all set up your tents and get a couple of fires going and I’ll fix something up for y’all make you feel better.”

  So we did as Phil said.  Up went the tents.  We gathered kindling, got out our firestarters and had good ol’ campfires going in no time.

  “Y’all boys come on over here,” hollered Scoutmaster Phil from front of his tent.  He had a big roaring fire going and a big pot dangling in the flames.

  We all ambled over to Phil’s tent site and stood around the fire.

  Phil took out a big package of grape Kool-Aid mix and poured it into the pot.  He stirred it up.

  “Y’all go get your cups,” said Phil.

  “Warm Kool-Aid Phil?” asked one of the guys.

  “You’ll see,” said Phil.

  We went back to our tents and got our Official Boy Scouts of America cups, or whatever we had and went back to Phil’s campsite to see him pouring a copious amount of Canadian Club whiskey into the pot.

  Hoots and hollers went up from the assembled troop.

  “Now don’t y’all get all excited, this is just a little tonic,” said Phil.  “Good for what ails ya.  Warm ya up inside.  Grape Kool-Aid Hot Toddy.”

  Phil put down his bottle of Canadian Club and stirred the pot.  Then he started ladling out the Hot Toddy.

  “There ain’t gonna be no seconds, so don’t ask,” said Phil.

  We stood around the campfire sipping on our Grape Kool-Aid Hot Toddies as night came on, the clouds from the squall clearing out.

  One thing was for sure, Scoutmaster Phil was a good mixmaster, I hardly noticed there was really anything different about the Kool-Aid except it was warm and warmed me up inside.

  And so our bike-hike came to an end.  We rode our bikes into the little hamlet of Hancock, nothing more than a country store with a few houses standing around it.

  Scoutmaster Phil leaned his big ol’ Columbia Cruiser up against a tree.

  “Y’all just hang around here,” said Phil, “I’m gonna go get the bus.”

  Phil started walking up the road to the country store when a car came up behind him.  He turned around, stuck out his thumb and got picked up for a ride right away.

  I walked over to Phil’s bicycle and stared at it, looking at the big fat tires, the black sheen, the huge baskets.  I put my hand on a handgrip and thought, “I’m gonna have a bike like this someday.

  And so I do.

EPILOGUE

  I don’t remember all of the details but not long after we got back to Roanoke from our epic bike-hike Scoutmaster Phil stopped coming to our weekly troop meetings.

  It turns out one of the itty-bitty new Scouts went home and told his momma that he had enjoyed whiskey while we were on our big adventure.  Unbeknownst to many of us until sometime later Phil had been asked to remove himself from the troop.

  I told this story one time to a Scout leader here in the future and he was aghast.

  “That man would be brought up on charges today,” he stammered, not finding any humor in the story.

  I sighed and smiled.

  “Well, I reckon Phil shoulda been glad it happened in 1972,” I said.  “Things were different then.”

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