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Wildcat

Wildcat

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Joined
Jan 21, 2009
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This is the story of my 1980 Schwinn Typhoon. I wrote the whole story awhile back and I was logged out or something after working on it for an hour or so, so I'm just going to post segments of the story.

I spotted the brand new blue Typhoon in the back of the Rantoul bike shop, behind the 10 speeds. I always wanted a new Schwinn as a kid. My friend had a Schwinn, and I always liked the solid feel of that bike. With 5 brothers and sisters, we had mostly second hand bikes, and we wore them out by riding constantly back then, in the 60's. In early 1981, I had just gotten through Navy boot camp and was at my technical school, learning Meteorology and Oceanography. I had gotten lucky and was awarded the school, I was headed out to a ship, no school, as a deckhand. Here was a Schwinn, and it referenced the weather, Typhoon. Same as a Hurricane, but on the other side of the world, storms are called Typhoons. The bike was $160. The new 10 speeds weren't much different, and the shop manager wanted me to buy a Varsity. Maybe he was trying to hang onto the 2 Typhoons, they were covered in dust. I was adamant and rode off on my first new Schwinn at the age of 24. Here's a pic of what it looked like:

vnmk2e.jpg


Rantoul is a little town in Illinois near the Champaign\Urbana area. Chanute Air Force base was there, the weather school was for all branches of the military, so I was there for a few months starting in late spring, perfect for bike riding.
 
Bike riding was my only recreation while there at Chanute. I enjoyed riding around Rantoul, it reminded me of my hometown, Sandusky, Ohio, in that it was small and had plenty of places accessible by bike. A railroad ran along one side of town and had a dirt service road right along it. On most days, I would be out riding and enjoying the good weather. A few of the guys from my school had rented a mobile home so I also had a place to stop when ever. Many of the class hung out there, so there was always food and refreshment there. After a race between me on my bike and another guy on a 10 speed (he barely beat me in high gear) we stopped in for a break. We had raced out along the unused runways at the base where there were miles of deserted pavement. I was light, less than 120 lbs, and could really wind out the one speed, although I wished the rear cog was 18 instead or 19 teeth. So we had lunch and a couple of beers while everyone sat around.
There must have been about a dozen or so people there and one guy told us the story of how some airmen were busted for dope. It seems the base had a narcotics security squad that would roam up and down the railroad tracks, dressed up like hippies, trying to get military guys to smoke a joint, then bust them when they took a hit. We were now paying close attention as we enjoyed another couple of beers.
 
We were all in agreement that it was pretty underhanded of them to trap people like that. Looking back though, that story may not have been actually true, but we all didn't question it's truthfulness. I was handed another beer and decided I had enough beer, and it was a nice day, so I went out riding and left them all partying there.
I decided to check out other areas I hadn't explored yet, so i went around the back streets along the west side of town. Some factories and storage areas mostly, I sunk in the loose gravel in one big parking lot, it was fresh limestone gravel, about 3 inches deep. The parking lot was huge. Then I went up through town and looped around again. I came upon the dirt access road along the tracks and decided to take it and see if I could follow it all the way to the end of town. The 1 3/4 inch tires did well on the packed dirt roads.
About a mile down the dirt road, I saw them. They were walking aimlessly down the tracks. It didn't dawn on me at first, but I noticed that they looked funny, their clothes were strange. Then it hit me. It was the Narc Squad! They looked way overdone, trying too hard to look like hippies. They looked like these folks:

6yiqzl.jpg
 
I stopped and thought about how funny they looked. I shouldn't have said anything and just kept going but maybe it was the beer, or the anger I felt about them entraping innocent Navy and Air Force people who were serving their country. I hollered "Hey Where's Jimmy?" They yelled back "Jimmy? Jimmy who?" I yelled "Jimi Hendrix, aren't you all a band of gypsys? Trapping people with dope? You oughta be ashamed of yourselves!" Then they yelled something I couldn't hear, I was about 50 yards away, and all 4 of them started after me. I yelled "Catch me if you can!" I don't think I cussed at them, but I might have. I then took off down the dirt road.
 
They were yelling for me to stop as I went flying along the dirt road next to the tracks. I took a quick glance behind me to see how far back they were. I figured I was way ahead of them at my speed, and I was, except for the tall hippie. He looked like he was barely running but was moving way faster than the others. He must have been 7 feet tall and was determined. So, I bore down and kept going wide open, but the dirt road didn't seem to have any turn offs to get back to town. I thought the path might go for miles or dead end. Now I could hear his footsteps! How fast could a person run? I could hear him panting as I gave it all I had.
At last, a small turn off coming up past some trees. Good thing, because the access road was coming to an end. I needed some pavement to really open up and get away. A sidestreet would be perfect. As I got past the trees, I could see the street. It wasn't a street, it was that big gravel parking lot I saw earlier! Crap!
 
There was no where else to go but right through the gravel lot. I hit it as fast as I could hoping momentum would carry me, but it must have been 250 feet to the street. I kept pedaling as was actually floating instead of sinking in the gravel. I kept leaning forward and backward depending which wheel was sinking. I had to turn to get to the street and sent a rooster tail of gravel flying as I slid around. The gravel made a lot of racket in the fenders and there was limestone dust flying everywhere. I heard the tall hippie fall as he lost his footing. The bike slid out from under me but I kicked back up and kept spinning. He got up and was right on my tail as I neared the road. I flew right out onto the street, hoping there was no traffic. Lucky for me, there wasn't, and the bike slid on the pavement from all the limestone dust on the tires. I stayed up and and the rear tire squealed when it grabbed as I gave it everything I had. He gave up the chase as I hit top speed.
 
I kept going towards the hangout at a good clip. I let out a loud whoop when I realized what i had just done. I outran the narc squad on a one speed middleweight bike! I was shaking like a leaf and was sweating like a pig. My handlegrips were slippery and I was covered in white limestone dust that turned to a paste when mixed with sweat. I had probaby gone over a mile as hard as I could. When I slid up into the yard at the hangout, everyone was astonished at my appearance. I was white as a ghost from the limestone "paste" and still shaking from the adrenalin. I had to hide my bike quick. I told them I had just outrun the narc squad, they all laughed. We didn't see them at all, so they all thought I crashed my bike and just made up a story.
I should have dismantled the bike and mailed it home right then. Nope, I was out riding a few weeks later and had stopped at the arcade and left it locked up out front. It was probably the only new blue Typhoon in town, so they didn't have a hard time finding me. I was playing pinball as they surrounded the table. The same 4, dressed up like hippies. I decided to play dumb and ask if that was their table, and I said I'd be done in just a minute. I complememted them "Nice threads, man!". They just walked away! I couldn't believe it. I overheard them saying someything about me probably being so drunk I couldn't remember, and the tall hippie said something about not being able to catch me. That's the last I ever saw of them. But I wouldn't have recognized them in uniform without their wigs though.
 
Well , I graduated school and got my orders, I was headed to the USS Enterprise! I boxed up my bike and took it to shipping there as I was told to, and made sure everything was correct, and had the clerk double check it for me. He said it was excellent and to look for it when I got to my ship. There was guy watching us there in the warehouse that may have been one of the narc squad, but I couldn't tell for sure. The bike never made it to my ship. I had all the numbers, and we ran a trace (back in 1981, there wasn't much in tracking a package) to no avail, it couldn't be found. My supply officer felt it was because it was Air Force shipping to the Navy that may have caused some confusion. So I put a claim in for my $160 bucks, but too much time had passed, so I was out of luck.
I have a theory as to what really happened to my Typhoon. The tall hippie got it and probably has it hanging in his garage. He was on the security team at Chanute AFB in 1981. I'd like to offer my apologies to them, I'm pretty sure they didn't entrap airmen, it was just rumors and probably a story someone made up to cover their illegal drug use. I also would pay $500 to get that bike back. The bike shop in Rantoul is no more, so I can't find out if it was a 80 or 81 model, and I don't have the serial number anymore, but I'm fairly sure there were only a couple of Typhoons with the Rantoul decal on them form that time frame.
 
I bought a 1980 Typhoon frame from a member here and have it in my stable of bikes. I'd still like to retrieve my bike from Rantoul though, or even find a way to get the serial number. it was the only one sold there in March of 1981. Here's the Typhoon I found here:

6hsynk.jpg
 
This is a cool story, good luck on finding your first typhoon. I like your replacement bike.
 
Great story. I wish I could write that much about my bikes of youth.

Sent from my ADR6300 using Tapatalk
 
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