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MY DAY ON A DOODLE BUG
Spring, 1956. Kankakee, Illinois.
I am training to be a juvenile delinquent and auto mechanic. Of course, I was getting straight A’s in Jr. High because that’s what our family did.
Through a random genetic occurrence I had reached full adult height the year before. I was the tallest kid in the school.
Combing my DA one day, I was reading the latest Junior Scholastic. The cover story featured guys my age doing motorcycle drill team stuff on “Doodle Bugs.” They weren’t kidding: these scooters were bug-like. But it sure looked like fun!
I forgot about it. My Dad had taken a job in California, and we were going on An Airplane (!) to join him in June.
We moved into a place big enough for all of us in Walnut Creek, CA. School hadn’t started, and I didn’t know anybody. I read the local paper out of boredom. Wait! What was this? Rhett-White Ford in Walnut Creek sponsored THE Doodle Bug Club of America.
That afternoon I biked to the Ford dealer. He told me about the club and invited me to go along when they performed at an AMA mile race at Bay Meadows.
On Race Day all the members and their Doodle Bugs met at the Ford dealership. An old Greyhound bus with a crane on the roof was loaded up with scooters, some on top, some inside.
On the way Pete Jensen told me he could help me mount a bigger carb when I got my Bug. Jim Howe told me we could “whip out the cam and grind more duration into the intake lobe.” This was hot stuff!
During warm up I was taught how to ride. This consisted of “go down there, turn around and come back.” Everything was fine until turning and stopping exceeded my skill level. My shoe jammed into a retaining wall and the sole came loose. But I didn’t damage the Doodle Bug.
Before the Main Event, the club performed. My job was to ride a back-up Bug to the drill team area, then crouch out of the way.
The team did its maneuvers including the figure 8. Eventually Dave Pringle jumped over four guys laying on the asphalt. Everyone remounted and The Club rode off to applause.
“Quick,” the sponsor told me, “You’re supposed to go with them!” OK, sure. Now how do you start this thing? “Push me,” I yelled. “Can’t do it,” was the reply, “Centrifugal clutch.”
Several dozen kicks later I took off after the Doodle Bug formation, now 200 yards ahead. I got down low over the handlebars, accelerating over 20 MPH. Being tall, I hung out some distance ahead of the Doodle Bug. The sole of my shoe, damaged during the training session, flapped in the breeze. One lone Doodle Bug, playing catch up. A noise filled my ears. I looked back to see 5,000 race fans laughing at me.
I was never able to afford a whole Doodle Bug. I did buy an official motor complete with the kickstarter. I bolted it to the bench in our garage and serenaded the neighborhood for months, until I got the burned-up Cushman. But that’s another story.
Chuck Carroll Walnut Creek, California 1993
The author went on to race short track and moto-cross and even opened his own shop in Davis, CA. He recently ran into Club member Jim Howe. Jim goes to Bonneville every year and holds a class record just shy of 300 mph. Not on a Doodle Bug, however
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