We lived in the house that Dad built which was located quite a ways away (a far piece away at my age then), from Harry Cossey's little grocery store.
One day, Mom decided she needed some eggs, but the store was 1/2 mile away, and I was the only one that had transportation. I had graduated from the hoop and stick to the bicycle. Plus, I had a basket on the front of it. Man, I was stylin'!
Heck, I'll go get those eggs. All I heard of the instruction was to get the coal-oil tin filled. We used coal-oil for several things, the most important being as a disinfectant for an open wound. It was also used for starting a fire in the stove every morning. Without it, a fire was nigh on to impossible to start on those cold Arkansas mornings. You'd think you would freeze to death before a fire big enough to prevent total annihalation was going.
Well, I peddled up to Harry Cossey's Store, and slid to a stop. The coal-oil bin was out front, and people helped themselves, then went inside and paid their nickel. Harry never worried about thieves the same as no one ever locked the doors to their houses. Harry counted out the eggs and put them in a bag, telling me to be careful of them.
So, I put them and the couple of other items in the basket very carefully so as not to break them. I think they were a nickel a dozen, but, back then, a nickel was quite hard to come by. After I had everything in the basket, I took off like a ghost was chasing me. I never thought about the eggs again until . . .
A couple of blocks from the store, I got a glimpse of the sun reflecting off something stringing from my basket. I must have run through a spider's web somewhere I thought, and kept on peddling furiously.
Unless you have ever ridden a bicycle on a gravel road, you have never experienced the full meaning of rough. Not only the pot holes in the road, but the rocks themselves made a huge difference in the ride and the control of the bike.
By the time I hit 4 blocks away from the store, and within sight of the house, I noticed the bag containing the eggs was getting wet. I looked back the way I had come, and could see nothing in the way of a puddle of water that I could have blasted through.
Suddenly, the paper bag containg the eggs melted. And I had eggshells, and egg white, and egg yolk everwhere! It ran down onto the front wheel, and the wheel slung it everywhere. Oh my god! What a holy mess!
How was I ever going to get it off my bike, especially when it was drying so quickly.
Well, I got home with 3 or 4 eggs out of a couple of dozen. Needless to say, it was the beginning and the end of my special delivery of those marvelously soft/hard things called eggs. By the way, I never did get all that yucky stuff off my bike!
Did you ever see how much stuff is in an egg? I garontold (not a mispellin . . . say it just like it is spelt!) you it is a lot more when it is stringing down your bicycle than what goes into the confines of a frying pan!
George Cavaness
10-09-1994
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