Category: Transportation

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Worst Motorhome

The GMC Motorhome (produced from 1973 to 1978) is widely considered a design masterpiece of its era, featuring front-wheel drive, a low profile, and a sleek fiberglass-and-aluminum body. It’s sleek look causes many people upon seeing one for the first time to believe that it is a current, ultra-modern motorhome.

I bought one of these in 1978 that was four years old. I like to claim that I spent more time under it fixing things, than in it. I drove it back and forth across the USA for three and a half round trips, and into Canada twice during the six years that I owned it. It looked almost identical to the one pictured above.

However, its unique engineering choices and vintage mechanicals came with a specific set of notorious problems and vulnerabilities:

Mechanical & Drivetrain Issues

Front-Wheel-Drive Heavy Loads:
The GMC used GM’s Unified Powerpack – the same 455 cu in (7.5L) or 403 cu in (6.6L) Oldsmobile V8 engine and Turbo-Hydramatic 425 transmission used in the Oldsmobile Toronado and Cadillac Eldorado. While innovative for an RV, transferring that much torque to front drive axles carrying up to 12,000+ lbs caused premature wear on CV joints, front axle shafts, and front wheel bearings (which often required replacement or repacking every 25,000–30,000 miles). Yes, I had to replace a CV joint.

Engine Bay Overheating & Vapor Lock:
Because the front-wheel-drive engine was shoved tightly under the cab forward of the front axle, ventilation was tight. Under heavy loads, mountain climbs, or hot summer driving, the engine bays were prone to extreme heat build-up, occasionally leading to vapor lock in the mechanical fuel pump system. I didn’t have that problem, but found the transmission oil turning brown, so I had to install an auxiliary cooler.

Front Traction Problems:
Because all driving force came from the front wheels while much of the living space and cargo weight rested over the rear tandem axles, traction could be poor on wet grass, steep unpaved inclines, or loose gravel. Towing heavy trailers could unweight the front end further. I never experienced that.

Rear Suspension & Brake Shortcomings

Air Suspension System Leaks:
The GMC Motorhome famously omitted a rear axle across the middle of the vehicle (dual rear wheels, or ‘dualies’), using an electro-pneumatic air bag system to self-level the rear tandem wheels and provide a smooth ride. The original rubber air bladders, air compressor, leveling valves, and air lines are notoriously leak-prone over time, causing the rear end to sag or drop completely to the bump stops when parked or driving. I never had a leak, but an air bag blew out in the middle of one night. I thought someone had shot the side of the motorhome with a shotgun. In the morning, I discovered pieces of rubber blown twenty feet (7 meters) away. People claimed a smooth ride, but no, it was noisy and bumpy, although perhaps no more than most motorhomes.

The differential gearing was the same as the Oldsmobile, but the wheels were larger and the vehicle weighted much more. It was geared so high that it couldn’t climb out of some not-so-steep driveways.

Not only that but the tandem rear wheels put tremendous lateral stress on the bearings when turning sharply such as backing into parking spaces. As a consequence, I had a wheel fly off on the freeway in Ohio one morning. Fortunately, the bearing and brake parts were standard Oldsmobile Toronado, so I was able to get replacements at a nearby junkyard. I also had to replace a pivot pin at another time.

The frame was a little lighter duty than ideal. GM sold shim kits so as the frame slowly twisted at the rear wheels, the wheels could be made perpendicular again.

Marginal Braking Performance:
Stopping a 10,000-to-12,000 lb vehicle with 1970s drum brakes on the four rear wheels and discs up front was challenging. Brake fade on long downhill mountain descents was a common complaint among owners, requiring careful gear-down engine braking. I never experienced that.

Electrical Flaws

12V Wiring & Grounding Issues:
The original 12V DC wiring harnesses suffer from inadequate grounding, leading to flickering lights, erratic instrument panel gauges, and persistent battery drain issues when sitting. I didn’t have that, but I could understand the problem. Lights and other components had to have two wires instead of one. In a steel vehicle, the electricity can be grounded through the frame.

Ownership & Living Space Drawbacks

Even in the late 1970s, replacement parts were expensive and hard to get. At the same time, owners of the ubiquitous Class C motorhomes, those with an ordinary van chassis, were low-cost and easy to maintain.

The curved entry door would slowly uncurve. General Motors offered a special block and tackle kit to bend it back into shape. Mine leaked when it rained.

The curved walls made it feel small inside. Curtains had to have runner attachments at the top and bottom.

Fuel Economy:
Despite its aerodynamic styling compared to boxy competitors of the 1970s, the massive big-block Oldsmobile V8 typically delivers only 8 to 11 MPG on highway trips. Yup, I averaged 10 miles per gallon.

A total of 12,921 GMC Motorhomes were produced during its manufacturing run from model years 1973 through 1978.

Two length options were offered:
26-foot models: Accounted for the vast majority of production (around 11,000 units).
23-foot models: Made up the remaining ~1,900 units.

Mine was 26 feet long.

Survival Rate:
One of the most remarkable aspects of the GMC Motorhome is its longevity. Thanks to its aluminum and fiberglass body construction and an enthusiastic enthusiast community, an estimated 8,000 to 9,000 of these motorhomes are still in running condition and on the road today.

On The Other Hand:
Owners of recent motorhomes made after approximately 2014 have a lot of complaints about low-quality materials, over-engineering with too many failure-prone electronics, and poor workmanship. Rain leaking in and causing mold damage is common. One of the biggest issues seems to be with the slide-out rooms. Imagine getting ready to leave your campground, but you can’t get a slide to go back in!

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10 Worst Uber Jokes

I once had an Uber driver who gave me life advice the whole ride.
By the end, I wasn’t sure if I’d reached my destination or been inducted into a cult called “Success Starts with Prayer.”

I ordered an Uber, and when it arrived, the driver said, “Hop in.”
But then he jumped into the back seat and said, “Okay, now you drive. I’m tired of this gig economy.”
We both gave each other 5 stars out of sympathy.

My Uber driver said, “You’re my first passenger today.”
I said, “It’s 10 p.m.”
He said, “I know. I just got my license back from the court.”

My Uber driver was on the phone with his mom the entire ride.
By the time we got to my stop, I had strong opinions about her casserole and their strained family dynamic.

I took an Uber in LA and spent $40 to go one mile.
The driver said, “You’re not paying for the ride. You’re paying for the experience of not crying on public transit.”

I had an Uber driver who was so polite, he apologized every time he hit a pothole.
Then he apologized for over-apologizing, then for the awkward silence. I married him.

I once got in an Uber and the driver handed me an aux cord, a granola bar, and a weighted blanket.
I think I accidentally summoned therapy instead of transportation.

I got into an Uber and the driver said, “You look like someone with regrets.” I said, “Yeah, getting into this car.”

My Uber driver offered me water, gum, and a resume.

My Uber driver had a sticker that said, “No small talk.” Finally, a soulmate.

UberPOOL is like Russian roulette, but everyone talks about crypto.

I told my Uber driver who seemed familiar, that I was having a bad day. He said, “Me too. I’m your dentist.”

Uber now charges $15 if the driver has to emotionally support you during the ride.

I once had an Uber driver who refused to use GPS. He said he “follows the wind.” We ended up at a Renaissance fair.

I ordered an Uber, and a hearse pulled up. Five stars for the most silent ride of my life.

I took an Uber with my date, and the driver said, “You two won’t last.” He wasn’t wrong.

My Uber driver took a wrong turn and said, “Oops, side quest.” I tipped extra for the RPG immersion.

My driver asked if I believed in aliens, then drove past my destination into the woods. I now believe in screaming.

I once had a driver who narrated the whole trip like a nature documentary:
“Here, we see the wild pedestrian in its natural habitat, confused and jaywalking.”

My Uber driver had a plush cat on the dash. I asked why. He said, “It gives me directions when the GPS lies.”

My driver asked if I’d mind stopping for his dry cleaning. I said yes. He did it anyway. Five stars for confidence.

I accidentally got into the wrong Uber, but we had such a good conversation I canceled my ride and just kept going.

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10 Worst Bicycle Jokes

Why did the bicycle fall over? Because it was two tired!

My bike mechanic told me I needed new brakes. I told him, “No breaks! I’m on a tight schedule!”

Why did the bike go to therapy? It had too much chain anxiety.

A cyclist is pulled over by a police officer. The officer says, “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?” The cyclist replies, “No, officer, I don’t. Was I going too fast?” The officer sighs, “No, you were riding with no hands, no helmet, and you were juggling flaming torches. And you had a parrot on your shoulder yelling obscenities.” The cyclist shrugs, “Well, I was just trying to have some fun!”

I joined a cycling club. The welcome packet included a waiver, a map, and a tube of chamois cream.
I’m still not sure if I joined a sports club or a cult with suspiciously smooth thighs.

I went on a blind date with a cyclist.
Everything was going great until she said, “I only date people who can hold 22 mph on a climb.”
I said, “I only date people who believe in gravity.”

Why did the bicycle break up with the treadmill?
Because it couldn’t handle a relationship that went nowhere.

I asked my date if she wanted to go tandem biking.
She said she preferred relationships where one person wasn’t doing all the work.

My bike has more gear than I do.
Seriously, it’s got 21 speeds, disc brakes, and electronic shifting.
Meanwhile, I’m riding in gym shorts and praying I remembered deodorant.

My bike got stolen last week.
The thief left a note: “Sorry, but this ride deserved better than you.”

Cyclists are like cats.
They’re sleek, independent, occasionally hissy, and when they fall, they pretend it was on purpose.

My friend bought a $5,000 bike and now rides 3 miles every other Sunday.
At that rate, he’ll break even sometime in the 28th century.

I got pulled over on my bike for speeding.
I asked the cop if I was really going that fast. He said, “No, but your outfit is a crime.”

I tried group riding, but the only thing I learned was how to apologize while gasping,
“Sorry… can’t keep up…”

My bike is like my therapist.
It listens without judgment, supports me when I’m down, and lets me scream into the wind without anyone calling the police.

I asked a cyclist how long it takes to get used to the saddle.
He said, “About six months. Then the numbness becomes part of your personality.”

You know you’re a cyclist when your tan lines look like you fell asleep in a cage.

My kid asked why I ride my bike so much.
I said, “Because it’s the only time I can hear my own thoughts.”
He said, “That’s sad, Dad.”
I said, “I know. Now go fetch my helmet.”

What do you call a cyclist who doesn’t wear a helmet? An organ donor.

What do you call a bicycle built by a chemist? Bike-carbonate of soda.

Why did the cyclist bring a map to the velodrome? He kept going in circles.

What’s the difference between a cyclist and a fish? One has scales, the other has wheels.

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Worst Trucker Fiction

by Jeff Napier

Wham! My truck was just sitting at a red light, waiting to turn left. A drunken fool careened around the corner at a high rate of speed. Watching in horror, there was nothing I could do. He hit the bumper of my truck, spun around, and hit a parked car. Fortunately, no one was hurt, but that wrecked my lifelong plan.

Coming from the wrong side of the tracks and raised by a single mother, poverty was no stranger. Not only that, but my grandparents never had any money. I was going to break the cycle. In my last years of high school, I looked around for a job. What could a black girl without the means of a college education do? Because of details in my mother’s past and her remarkably low credit score, a student loan was not possible.

I could become a hairdresser but that really wasn’t my thing. How about a massage practitioner? Maybe get a job at a hotel? No, not for me. One day it occurred to me that driving a truck might be nice.

That was it! That was something I could do and it would get me out of the projects. For those who don’t know, that’s the ghetto, the worst of the ghetto. I’d wanted to get way out. Like, what if I could get one of those jobs where I’m driving all over the country? How cool is that?

But there was a roadblock. Truck driving school. There was no money. Practically in tears for days, it hadn’t occurred to me that one didn’t have to start out with a big truck. What about driving for Uber? No, that wouldn’t work because I didn’t have a car. Maybe driving a delivery van for Amazon? Maybe after doing some sort of delivery work for a while, I would have the money to go to trucking school.

It turned out that getting a job with Amazon was ridiculously easy. It paid really well too, or at least for a girl like me, allowing me to start saving for driving school. It took me nearly a year, since my brother stole my savings for his drug habit about six months in.

Let me tell you, hopping in and out of a truck fifty times a day with packages is strenuous work. And people with their dogs. Some people just don’t control them! I still have a little scar on my thigh. But it was a job, and it fit a plan. I stuck with it.

Well, eventually I did learn to drive a big truck. My first real trucking job was a ten-wheeler dump truck. Even though it was just back and forth from a quarry to construction sites, it made me happy, and it was making good money.

In time, my dream job came along, commanding an 18-wheeler. I just loved double-clutching and floating the gears with that 13-speed Spicer transmission. Sitting high up over all the other traffic was a delight. And, what a kick, traveling in these United States of ours. The windshield was like a peaceful, never-ending movie. Even the rattly, throaty sounds of a big diesel engine was enjoyable. I was in heaven.

Until that drunk bent my bumper. You’d think that would be a minor thing, but here’s what happened. The company fired me instantly. It seems if you’ve been in an accident that involves two or more other vehicles, that’s their policy. It didn’t matter that the truck was completely stopped, the drunk hit me, then smashed into a parked car.

Worse, a couple of minutes after the crash, a cop showed up on the scene and gave me a ticket. Yes, a ticket for forgetting to turn on my emergency flashers. Can you believe it? OK, so the police officer was white, and I’m black. Well, I don’t want to think about that.

So, guess what? You can’t get hired as a trucker with a recent violation.

Days of unemployment turned into weeks and then into months. All the beautiful money in my savings account was gone. I had been so proud of the used Toyota Camry I recently purchased. but had to sell it. Sure, it was ten years old, but it was MY car!

My addict brother came through for me for once, and gave me some money for groceries. Then, he tried to convince me I could make some money by selling drugs. Yeah, right, like I’d ever do that. I’d rather literally die of poverty.

A food stamps application was in process. The rent was overdue so next was going to be moving back in with Mom. And here I thought I could get out of the projects. Well, the joke was on me and I started crying once again.

Checking the Internet daily for driving jobs, at that point, anything would do. Even if I could get the Amazon job back, that would have been a big relief.

On the worst day of my life, when it seemed every door had closed, I came across a funny little ad on Craigslist. Some guy wanted someone who was familiar with driving big vehicles, but could also cook and do ‘light domestic chores.’ Weird, eh?

In fact it was kind of spooky. What was up with that? Maybe it was about driving a truck full of household or kitchen product samples, and demonstrating them. I didn’t even want to think of other possibilities. If things had been different, I’d never answer such an ad.

The guy wrote back. Once he told me the details, I felt sick to my stomach. This guy was definitely a creep.

He said he had purchased a big diesel motorhome because he was some sort of pickleball player, whatever that was. He said he drove his motorhome once, immediately tore off the air horn under a low-hanging branch and that driving it scared him. He wanted someone to drive it so he could go to pickleball events all over the country. He wanted the driver to make him meals, keep the motorhome clean, wash his clothes, and so on. Sort of a rolling butler.

Yeah, so what else did he want? This was horrible. But at that point, any job was better than no job. So, I took the bus and walked a mile to his place in the hot afternoon sun for an interview.

There was fear about going into his house, but what could I do? I was thinking once I was inside, he could do anything. It was a big house, out in the Brighton neighborhood. He obviously had a dollar or two.

For a white guy, he was pretty good-looking. He did have a nice smile. Sparkly eyes, too. When emailing with him, it seemed like he might be some 50-year-old masher, but no, he was only one year older than me.

Well, we got to talking, and it wasn’t horrible. In fact, we talked over an hour, and I was actually starting to believe this guy could be OK. We walked back behind his house, and there was his motorhome. It was a big, tall, 40-foot long, shiny diesel beauty built on a Freightliner chassis. It was no tractor-trailer but I wouldn’t mind driving that thing, even if it did have an automatic transmission.

He told me a little about this pickleball stuff. He said it was like a cross between ping-pong and tennis. It didn’t sound very interesting to me, but you know how people are. They take an interest in something like tropical fish or rollerblading and they become obsessed.

As evening was approaching we worked out that I’d drive just him once, to a pickleball tournament near Chicago, a three-day trip starting two days from then. After making it clear that there was to be no funny business, I foolishly believed that he would be a gentleman. Maybe it’s because I needed the job so badly. Still, all I was promising was this one drive to Chicago.

I had to catch the last bus home. He got a funny look on his face, like, he understood my situation even though I hadn’t really told him the details. He said, “Why don’t you drive the motorhome to your place then bring it back the day after tomorrow?”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet. Thinking he was going to give me his business card or something, he handed me four $100 bills. “Here, take the motorhome, get yourself a nice meal, then fill it with organic groceries tomorrow. Oh, and keep the change.”

We were standing in the motorhome at the time. Something went wrong. My eyes filled with tears, my knees felt weak, causing me to slump down onto a sofa, crying my eyes out. He sat next to me, tentatively put one arm around me and patiently waited until I could speak.

“I know, I know,” is all he said.

We did go to Chicago. The drive was pleasant. He sat in the passenger seat most of the time. We talked, but it was all pleasant surface stuff. Nothing deep. I was supposed to be doing his domestic chores, but on that drive, he made me sandwiches and seemed attentive to my every need. He did spend way too much time explaining pickleball to me. I didn’t get it. Why would anyone want to play something that was like tennis, but it wasn’t tennis?

On the way, we stopped at RV campgrounds. I had never done anything like that before, having to learn about hooking up the electricity, water hose, and all that. Oh, you should have seen the mess I made while disconnecting the sewer hose the next morning.

What about sleeping arrangements, you ask? True to his word, Jimmy was a real gentleman. He had a bedroom in the back of the rig. It had a full queen-size bed. He showed me how a sofa pulls out in the front, handed me some sheets, blankets and pillows out of a cabinet, then went into his back bedroom and closed the door.

When we arrived at the tournament, he introduced me to a bunch of other pickleball players as his driver. If any of them raised eyebrows, I didn’t see it. I returned to the motorhome and tidied up while he got ready for his first game.

Coming back out to watch, I didn’t really understand the game. It had a weird scoring system with three parts like “four-seven-two.” He and a partner lost badly, that much was clear. It didn’t seem to phase him, he was smiling as much after the game as before. He was likeable, but he was a weirdo.

That job lasted well over a year, until things changed which you’ll find out about in a minute. He found tournaments from east coast to west, although mostly sticking to Southern California that winter. Even though he wasn’t a very good player, he was so affable. Everyone loved Jim.

Details slowly became clear. It seems Jim had gone to college for software engineering. While still a student he built a small, social media website competing in a minor way with the likes of Facebook and Twitter. To everyone’s surprise, including his own, Meta, the company that includes Facebook, bought his little website for many millions of dollars. He retired at age 22. Except he didn’t really retire. He kind of brokers websites by other developers, and somehow continues to make more money.

In time, Jimmy got me out on a pickleball court. I was terrible at it, literally swinging and entirely missing the ball a few times. At one point I fell and scraped a knee. But we and a couple of other players were laughing, and carrying on, and having a good time. Pickleball wasn’t awful. In fact it was kind of fun, and wouldn’t you know, I started playing it regularly?

I became Jimmy’s doubles partner. Truth be told, I’m better at it than he is. He doesn’t seem to mind one bit. Among our many tournaments around the country, Jimmy also visited with coaches, and he became a better player, but still, he doesn’t have what you might call natural ability. But mostly, we play. We play just recreational games with other people, but also at the tournaments. We seldom win, but we always have fun.

I still love driving. He and I will sit up in the front of the motorhome just discussing anything and everything as the miles roll by. We’ll see mountains and fields, ponds and rivers, people here, and people there. When we get to our destinations, we’ll go to museums and tourist attractions. We’ll visit with pickleball players in their homes. It’s a wonderful life.

Now, I love pickleball as much as Jim does.

And, I love Jim as much as pickleball. More. We innocently kissed a few times during the past couple of months, and last Friday, that kissing really turned into something. For the first time, I slept in the bed in the back of the motorhome, not on the pull-out sofa.

Recent news:

We were married in February. We’ve been discussing the possibility of raising children on the road in our motorhome.

Discover many more articles about pickleball at OddPickleball.com


Jimmy’s motorhome


The author’s motorhome

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Worst Car Mechanic



Most raccoons don’t have much knowledge of automotive technology, but this one seems to know exactly what he’s doing.

Raccoons are clever, adaptable little bandits with ringed tails and a reputation for opening anything that looks like it might contain snacks. Here are 30 fascinating facts about the animal known as the Raccoon.

🦝 Biology and Behavior

The scientific name of the raccoon is Procyon lotor, which roughly means “washer dog.” Early observers thought raccoons looked like they were washing their food.

That “washing” behavior isn’t really cleaning. Raccoons are actually increasing the sensitivity of their paws by wetting them.

A raccoon’s front paws are extremely sensitive and contain thousands of nerve endings, almost like human fingertips.

They can identify objects by touch alone even without seeing them.

Raccoons are mostly nocturnal, meaning they are active mainly at night.

Their famous black facial mask helps reduce glare and improve night vision, similar to the eye-black used by athletes.

An adult raccoon typically weighs 10–20 pounds (5 – 9 kg), though some urban raccoons can grow much larger thanks to abundant food.

Raccoons have excellent climbing ability and can descend trees headfirst by rotating their hind feet.

They are very intelligent animals, ranking among the smartest mammals after primates and dolphins in some tests.

Raccoons have been shown to remember solutions to puzzles for up to three years.

🧠 Intelligence and Problem Solving

In experiments, raccoons have been able to pick locks, unlatch cages, and solve multi-step puzzles.

Some researchers say raccoon intelligence is comparable to monkeys in certain tasks.

They can open jars, doors, coolers, and trash can lids, which is why they are famous neighborhood “garbage burglars.”

Raccoons learn by trial and error and quickly adapt to new situations.

Mothers teach their young how to forage and solve problems.

🌎 Habitat and Range

Raccoons are native to North America, but humans have introduced them to parts of Europe and Japan.

They thrive in cities and suburbs, often living in attics, chimneys, sewers, and abandoned buildings.

Urban raccoons can have smaller territories because food is plentiful.

They are excellent swimmers and often hunt along rivers, lakes, and wetlands.

Raccoons can survive in climates ranging from Canada’s forests to tropical regions.

🍎 Diet

Raccoons are omnivores, meaning they eat both plants and animals.

Their diet can include fruit, nuts, insects, frogs, fish, eggs, corn, and garbage.

They especially love sweet corn and ripe fruit.

In cities they frequently raid trash cans, pet food bowls, and bird feeders.

👶 Life and Social Behavior

Baby raccoons are called kits or cubs.

A typical litter contains 2–5 babies.

The babies are born blind and helpless and stay with their mother for about a year.

Female raccoons are usually more social than males, sometimes sharing territory with relatives.

🦝 Fun and Unusual Facts

A raccoon’s ringed tail helps with balance when climbing and may also be used for communication.

Despite their mischievous reputation, raccoons play an important role in ecosystems by spreading seeds and controlling insects and small animals.

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Worst Way to Ride a Bicycle

Wrong Way Wooten,
World’s Most Eccentric Bicycle Tourist

Copyright 2014-2026, Jeff Napier

You may occasionally hear someone refer to doing something oddly, or backward, as “Wrong Way Wooten.”
This has become an expression almost entirely detached from its roots. Something like, “Who is John Galt?” That came from the classic novel, Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand. But what about “Wrong Way Wooten?” What’s that all about?

In approximately 1955, Tom Wooten was born in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylavnia.

This place with the weird spelling (pronounced “brin mar”) is approximately eleven miles outside of Philadelphia. Bryn Mawr means “Big Hill” in Welsh. This is a little town of approximately 4,000 people with a neat little downtown where most of the buildings, and most homes, are made of red or orange brick. Bryn Mawr is known as one of the wealthiest areas in the United States, and that figures into our story later on. Ten percent of the population is black, ten percent Asian, and the rest mixed or white.



Bryn Mawr in Pennsylavania



Downtown Bryn Mawr

Tom grew into a tall, slim, very dark skinned, strong, good-looking man. For a short while in the 1980s, he was slightly world-famous. He did not attain the level of celebrity such as Paul McCartney, Dolly Parton, or Burt Reynolds, but he did become a legend, and I think you’ll agree that what he did was significant.

So what did he do? He rode a bicycle backward. That’s all. But he leveraged that skill to deliver a message, and he did it well.

It started when Tom was thirteen years old. In a discussion with a friend, the idea of riding a bike while sitting on the handlebar came up. The friend said it couldn’t be done. Tom proved otherwise.

Through his high school and college years, he perfected this skill, and was occasionally seen riding his bike backward through the town.

There is no information about where he went to college. In fact like much of the information about Tom Wooten, well, there just isn’t much information. One thing we know for sure is that it wasn’t Bryn Mawr college, since that’s an all-woman’s college.

Initially, he rode an ordinary ten-speed bike of the era. with the only modifications being padded tape on the handlebar, to make sitting on it more comfortable, and mirrors on long brackets so he could see where he was going.

When he saw the way people reacted to seeing him ride that way, he decided it would be his career someday.

It wasn’t long before people started calling him “Wrong Way Wooten.” Later, he legally changed his first name to “Wrong Way.”

In his late 20s, evidently after driving a tow truck for a while, and receiving a degree in psychology, he planned his first cross-country tour. Originally, he was going to ride with five other people, but they all backed out before he started. He relates, “I learned never to count on anybody for anything.”

he built a custom bike for his purpose. It was based on a Schwinn Varsity, which was a heavy all-steel ten-speed road bike of the late 1970s, with a one-piece crank.



Schwinn Varsity

In addition to padding the handlebar and adding mirrors, he removed the seat, and put a portable television in its place. He then somehow attached another ten-speed bike to the rear of his bike in order to carry more gear. There is no information as to exactly how the second bike was attached. There are conflicting reports as to how much the entire contraption weighed. The report that I believe says it was 160 lbs (72 kg). Other reports put it at “over 300 pounds” and some say it was 450 lbs.



Wrong Way Wooten and his custom bike

Wrong Way converted the bike to 21 speeds, quite rare in the 1980s, but left the shifters in their original position – on the handlebar stem. This meant that he had to reach between his legs to change gears.



Stem shifters on a Schwinn Varsity

His bike had toe-clips, which were, of course, installed backward on the pedals.



A pedal with toeclip

Before his first trip to traverse the entire United States, he studied maps. Being independently wealthy (according to what little is written – and we don’t know how he attained that wealth, but Bryn Mawr is known for its wealthy residents), he then hired a small airplane to fly low, examining his proposed route for overly steep hills, road construction and other such potential problems.

Wrong Way then set out on his journey with a specific self-appointed mission. He represented several major charities including The American Cancer Society, The American Lung Society, The Heart Fund, the Jaycees, United Way, and March of Dimes, taking donations in person and also encouraging people to donate directly to their favorite charities.

According to the legend, he criss-crossed the country several times totaling 28,000 miles (45,000 kilometers) over the next seventeen years. As he tirelessly explained to thousands of people across the country, “The main reason I do what I do is to get people to realize that they have a responsibility to other people.” When he could, he would ride more than 100 miles in a day, but on many days he couldn’t get that far. This was due to interruptions as fascinated people wanted to talk with him. He was fine with that.

To some, it looked like what he was doing, riding around the country on a bike, would be limitless fun, but he cited some problems, such as flat tires, bad weather and racists who sometimes tried to run him off the road. “I can’t hate them, then I would be just like them.”

Someone once asked what he does when he gets a flat tire. With a straight face he answered, “I set the bike on fire.”

He did not recommend that other people should tour backwards. “One mistake, and you’re history.”

As with all good legends, the stories sometimes exceed the truth. One person remembers that Wrong Way was an expert on the subject of girls. He was supposedly a remarkable cook and a karate expert. That may be true. At least one person says Wrong Way was able to read minds, responding to unvoiced questions. All say he was a brilliant conversationist, able to speak on any level from ghetto talk to erudite conversations with professors.

He has been spoken of as a loner, and in a way, I suppose he was. This was a one-man crusade, and it must have been hard for him to have permanent, deep friendships, since he was always on the move. There is an unverified story that he had a son, who he pretty much entirely neglected. It is reported that this boy had a hard time in school, being an angry, disruptive student.

With the public, he was evidently quite gregarious. On his bike he also carried a sound system, and on more than one occasion he could be seen riding backward, accompanied by blaring music – anything from opera to rock, and sometimes happily singing along.

He planned on riding for twenty-five years. Unfortunately, in 2004, at age 47, he died of a massive heart attack.

His credo was, “Bind yourself to nothing and seek harmony with all things. Only then can you be truly free.” People who remember him say he was a wonderful and very personable ambassador for kindness to others.

For more bicycle information, everything from memoirs to unexpected how-to info, check out the 500 Ways Bicycling section.

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From the Worst Bumps
to the Smoothest Ride

From Belfast Cobblestones to the Modern Road: The Surprising Veterinary Origins of the Inflatable Tire

When we picture the foundation of the modern automotive industry, we usually think of industrial assembly lines, steel foundries, and visionary mechanical engineers. Yet one of the most critical breakthroughs in transport history came from an entirely different source: a Scottish veterinarian trying to make his young son’s tricycle ride a little less bumpy.

In 1887, Dr. John Boyd Dunlop was practicing veterinary medicine in Belfast, Ireland. Navigating the city’s rough, uneven cobblestone streets on horse-drawn carriages and solid-rubber-wheeled bicycles made for a harsh, jarring ride. The problem was especially severe for his nine-year-old son, Johnny, who suffered from frequent headaches while riding his tricycle.

At the time, tires were made of solid, unyielding rubber. Drawing on his medical background—where flexible sheet rubber, rubber aprons, and surgical tubing were common clinical tools—Dunlop set out to invent a dampening system that could absorb shocks from the road.

His solution was as simple as it was revolutionary. Dunlop constructed a flexible tube out of thin, sheet rubber, wrapped it around a wooden disk, and protected it with a outer casing of heavy canvas cloth. He then inflated the tube using a football pump and glued the entire assembly directly onto the wooden wheels of his son’s tricycle. The air-filled cushion—or “pneumatic” tire—proved to be an immediate success, offering an effortlessly smooth ride and remarkably lower rolling resistance.

Dunlop patented his pneumatic tire design in 1888 and soon founded the Dunlop Pneumatic Tyre Company. While initial skeptics dismissed the air-filled tires as fragile “pudding wheels,” the technology quickly proved its superiority on the bicycle racing track, where riders using Dunlop’s tires routinely dominated competitors riding on solid rubber.

As the automobile emerged at the turn of the 20th century, Dunlop’s invention was rapidly adapted for motor cars, transforming global transportation forever. Today, every passenger vehicle on the road relies on the fundamental concept pioneered in a veterinarian’s workshop to keep his son comfortable: trapping a cushion of compressed air inside a ring of flexible rubber.

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Worst Cabbie Complaints

In New York City is a special court that hears about 400 complaints per day against taxi drivers.

Since the cabbies in the Big Apple carry approximately 400,000 people per day, that means about one in every thousand passengers feels the need to bring a complaint against a driver.

Overheard in court: A cab driver who had recently immigrated from Pakistan was in court because he punched a passenger. Asked why, the driver said, “In my country women aren’t allowed to speak disrespectfully to a man.”

Many cabbies do not like this court because they have to waste hours waiting for their case to come up. In one case, a professor from Columbia University took a cab driver to court because he had made a face when he discovered the tip was a small one.

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Worst Waste of Money

Avoid the temptation to buy a top-of-the-line model unless you have money to burn. In almost all categories of merchandise, the difference between the top of the line, and middle is not all that great in terms of features and quality, but very noticeable in price.  Lets look at some examples: Continue reading Worst Waste of Money