The Steel Wheeled Chariot of Death!

At some point in my childhood, near about the time when most of my friends and I had learned to ride and drive mini-bikes and small motorcycles, our feelings of immortality were reaching their peak. After all, we had just conquered learning to ride motorcycles even before stepping in to a Driver's Education course to learn to drive cars. And as was the nature with those friends of mine, riding a motorcycle was just not enough. Riding by yourself was boring, unless you were in a race, or trying to run over one of your "ground-bound" friends with said motorcycle. (I should stop right here. We did not use motorcycles exclusively for this task. We found that hitting a person had a tendency to make the motorcycle unstable, so we quickly switched over to three-wheeled ATV's for this purpose)

Anyway, at some point, it was just more fun to have your friends come along for the ride and even though you could get one person on the back, having everyone in the group come along for the ride was even better. But how do you do this with a motorcycle that you can fit only one person on? You turn to the Steel Wheeled Chariot of Death.

The S.W.C of D. was a contraption that we created out of a old steel frame of some 1910 or 20's wagon that the wood components had long ago rotted away, leaving only the skeleton of welded and bolted metal to work with. I am not sure how it got there, but one day it appeared in the back part of my dad's yard, near the burn/trash pile. It was like a God-send to us boys and we immediately put it to good use!

We slapped a wooden door down on the frame, secured a back board to that and constructed a hitch of sorts that would attach to the back end of a motorcycle with out restricting the way a bike leans when turning. It all looked good in our minds and the best way to find out was to throw some people on and take it for a spin. Lo! and Behold! The damned thing worked perfectly. It took a bit of effort for the motorcycle operator to maintain an upright position on the bike due to the drag caused by the S.W.C of D. but it was not impossible to clip along at about 10 miles an hour over grass and fields with a few boys happily bouncing along behind in contraption that would eventually start to bend, bruise and almost break a number of boys in very short order.

Riding about on the Steel Wheeled Chariot of Death was fine if you were on soil, but once you hit paved or gravel roads, the ride became almost unbearable. Almost. We discovered that if you were riding in the S. W. C. of D. while on a road, you had to keep your mouth tightly shut or you might bite your tongue or crack your teeth due to the jackhammering that was a result of the bare steel wheels making contact with a hard surface like the road. Some riders preferred to stand, but this made the entire balance of the cart go wonky, so seated was the only way to be able to ride. The exception was standing on the very back of the cart, holding on to the backboard and standing on part of the frame. It was a prime position and one that allowed for quick exit from the cart once the ride was over. So we would jockey for position every time we used the cart and it was a useful contraption for about, oh, a week.

I remember it being a cool fall or spring day. The grass was still green, but it was very wet, and there were no crops in the fields, so it is hard to remember was season it was. Not that it matters. What matters is that a number of us had gathered from some reason in Claytonville. Probably a game day, or a bb gun fight, or something along those lines. Those present that I can remember, were Denver, Mike, Tom, Jeff, myself and I think my brother. We had all found ourselves at the bridge that crossed over the crick (Whiskey Creek) that passed by town. We had all arrived there via motorcycle and the Steel Wheeled Chariot of Death. But it was time to call it a day so we gathered up and headed back to town. (Which is only about a 40-50 second ride) On the motorcycle was Tom. On the S. W. C. of D. was Denver, Jeff, Mike, myself, and again, I think my brother. Everyone was on the cart, with Mike having secured the comfy position on the back. And off we went.

However, something went terribly wrong. Somewhere in the short time it took to get from the starting position to up to speed, someone or something caused the front of the cart to lift up, taking a good deal of ground traction off of the rear tire of the motorcycle and causing Tom to lose control of the bike. At this point, Mike saw what was coming and proceeded to jump off the back of the cart, which not only brought the front end down, but also propelled the cart frame into the back of the motorcycle tire and fender, catching up underneath the fender. Tom sped up immediately to attempt to unlock the motorcycle from the frame, which it did, but it in turned jerked the remaining riders back onto the backboard, causing us to clamber for secure positions.

The rest of this story is what I remember actually happening to me, and what I remember Mike telling us all what he saw after he exited the cart.

Mike said he saw the motorcycle and cart veer off of the road and down into the ditch, which had about a 10-12 foot drop. He said that Jeff tried to jump off the cart, got caught by the wheel as he left and fell onto the road as motorcycle and all were heading down into the ditch. He said, Denver and I had grabbed on to one another like two lovers in a full hug embrace, bouncing up and down on the cart, trying desperately to stay on board. And then the cart started to roll and proceeded to throw everyone, including Tom on the motorcycle, from their seated postions, out into the ditch and accompanying field.

From my perspective, all I remember was seeing the motorcycle in front of me start to fishtail horribly, someone screaming and jumping off the cart, and noticing the cart was no longer behind, but above the motorcycle that was supposed to be pulling it! I suppose this was because the motorcycle was headed down into the ditch, with the S.W.C. of D. in full pursuit. As the cart began to tilt and roll, I attempted to jump out, but the shoulder of my army jacket got caught in the spokes of the steel wheels and it pulled me down and around, my arm actually ripping out the 2x4 that was used to support the backboard to the wood door we used as a floor. I remember seeing things upside down as I rolled on the grass, the Steel Wheeled Chariot of Death flipping over, and Tom and the motorcycle also falling to the ground, to stop at the bottom of the soggy edge of the field. And I remember laughter.

Mike was laughing his ass off. He was standing up on the road, looking down at us and laughing as hard as he ever had. We all stood up, looked to make sure nothing was broken on us, and once assured of that, began the excited retelling of surviving the trip of death on our now bent and broken Steel Wheeled Chariot of Death. My shoulder hurt like hell. Jeff was kind of banged up from landing on the road, and Tom was pissed because something had broken on his motorcycle. I don't recall what happened to Denver, but he survived realatively unscathed.

We limped back home to my house and my friends went their own ways, but the next day at school we had a story to tell! I don't recall was happended to the S.W.C.of D. but we never used it again. I don't even think we pulled it out of the ditch. I supposed someone drug it out and used it for scrap metal, but it, like so many other things from my childhood, was one of those things I will never forget.