A bygone era…
I’ve just
finished reading A Ride in the Sun (or Gasoline Gypsy) by Peggy Iris Thomas. It
was a good, entertaining read. The story of a young woman’s motorbike ride
around Canada, the USA and Mexico in the early 1950s, with an Airedale dog
called Matelot for company. She started out from Nova Scotia, rode right across
Canada to Vancouver then down into the US, through California, then into Mexico
and down to Mexico City, by ship out of Vera Cruz to New Orleans, down through
Florida and then up the east coast, eventually arriving in New York after 18
months on the road.
Peggy rode a
single cylinder three (!) horsepower 125cc BSA Bantam called Oppy. It was overloaded
and underpowered, which led to a few problems - broken wheels, failed bearings,
slow speeds and excruciating climbs over mountain roads.
I
particularly enjoyed the little glimpses into how it was to ‘do the long ride’
then, compared with how much easier it is now.
The
reproduction of the cover to the 1954 edition amused me. It showed the intrepid
Peggy with a lady’s handbag slung over the handlebars. Who would ride a
motorcycle around North America with a handbag hanging from the handlebars?
Artistic licence I thought, at least until Peggy actually mentioned the handbag
later in the book.
This made me
curious about how she dressed for the ride – we modern motorcyclists wear
helmets (most places it’s the law), boots and protective clothing. Here is what
Peggy says about what she wore on the bike:
Jacket?
Pants? “I began to feel so warm…It was a relief to get out of my tight jeans
and hot socks, and I felt much more comfortable and cool in sandals and a
cotton sun dress. I had made this costume myself especially…”
Helmet? “I
sat down in my sopping dress; the hem was dripping on to the floor…My sandals
flopped like boats, while my hair hung in lank rat’s tails…”
Gloves? “We
left Richmond rather late…for the first time…I was wearing gloves for driving,
as well as a sweater…”
Early on she
had to stop to make some money to be able to continue the trip. She took two
jobs - typing telegrams by night and falling asleep at her desk as an office
stenographer by day. Later on, with the ravages of the road, she sometimes had
to take less pleasant and more physically demanding work to fund the trip or even
just to be able to buy food for herself and the dog.
The image of
the dog endures, wearing its own goggles and happily riding on the back in its
specially made box. Despite people’s surprise or concern to see this bold woman
travelling alone with her dog, Peggy made many friends. She had charm, as
demonstrated by the relative ease with which she seemed to overcome officialdom
in transporting bike and dog on trains & boats and across borders.
There are
many images of her riding into the evening, not stopping until well after dark,
maybe riding until 11 or 12 o’clock and then pitching a tent. It must have felt
like a safer world then. Wild camping, most times with only passing concern for
personal safety. Pitching up late at night beside the highway, on the beach or
in someone’s garden; or sleeping on the forecourt at the gas station, even
sleeping on the tables in a bar after closing time.
Later in the
trip, and after many miles, she had a bad run of punctures and breakdowns which
left her stoically working on the bike herself or hitching lifts and repeatedly
flagging down trucks to take the bike to the next repair shop, where she
sometimes didn’t have enough money to pay for the repair. Time and again she
met almost unfailing hospitality from all kinds of people, but this was
slightly tarnished by the occasional application of male chauvinism from people
who should have known better, such as the arrogant head mechanic at one
motorcycle garage in Mexico City who subjected her to days of ‘manana’ before
getting round to re-building the damaged back wheel.
Nowadays we
can call someone on the cell-phone if we have a problem. We can take digital
photos, which in many places we can download onto the internet each evening along
with our e-mails and blog articles if we choose. This contrasts with the image
of Peggy letting the bike fall, resulting in her losing her typewriter over the
dockside along with her exposed rolls of film; and the persistent attempts to
retrieve her property from the deep water when her boat was almost ready to
sail.
This book
offers more than just the story of a motorbike road trip. It gives many
insights into how it was for a woman travelling alone in post war America. It
was a different world then. A lifetime ago…
You can
find Peggy's route and read more about the book here.
