I spent my dreadful, woe-begotten wonder years riding a bike just like the one Ms. Gulch, aka "The Wicked Witch of the North", rode in "The Wizard of Oz". Imagine my surprise and delight when I came upon one just like it one recent Sunday afternoon while "antiquing" with the wife in one of southern Ohio's ginormous antique malls.
My wife walked away from me when she saw me going nuts when I found this. She mistook my being knocked sideways by it for my being overwhelmed by nostalgia.
In an age when kids rode bikes that emulated motorcycles and muscle cars, this is what I rode? Yup. And for a time, albeit briefly, I was damn proud of it too. My Typhoon was black just like this one, they only came in black or red back then, and mine was just like this one save for the tubes under the top tube right there. If I recall correctly, mine had a cantilevered tube under the top tube labeled *Schwinn*. That would have made mine either a 1963 or 1964. Those straight tubes under the top tube were exclusive to 1962 Typhoons.
My parents bought my Typhoon from our next door neighbor for $20 the summer my red, "banana" seat, "Apple Krate" knockoff was stolen out of our garage. Even before my bike was stolen, I had my eye on it for reasons, quite honestly, I've only recently begun to make sense of.
Now, don't get me wrong, I would have died for a Schwinn "Krate". However, knowing that would never happen and being quite impressed with how much more robust a ride the Typhoon was compared to the piece of junk I had before it was stolen, I took a liking to it. That and the fact it looked like it came from that golden era of yesterday that my parents droned on about incessantly. That big old Typhoon, in showroom new condition, got me as close to those yesterdays as possible. Or, so I thought.
Growing up in the mid-1970's in a terminally miserable household, I took refuge in anything that I felt was from some happier time and place in my parent's lives. Rejecting the norms of the day in a ill-advised, half-assed attempt to make them happy, I thought my Typhoon was just the ticket. I quickly realized, though, that my Typhoon labeled me as the kid who was terminally dorky and worse yet, an outsider. I couldn't get it stolen no matter how hard I tried and between the ages of 11 and 14, such a misstep was something you don't recover from quickly.
At least the damn thing was fast as hell; at least on the mostly level roads of Long Island's south shore. Pretty remarkable considering it a "one-speed" coaster; that one speed's gearing no doubt quite aggressive. Of course, going up even the slightest incline without a massive run-up was impossible. In retrospect, that was why I was probably always riding it as fast as possible.
The antique dealer wanted $350 for this. Not that I had any intention what so ever of buying it but, wow. Even adjusted for inflation that's an absurd amount of money. Although I have mixed emotions towards my Typhoon, that $20 spent on mine years ago was a terrific bargain.
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