CNJ+ February 2025

THE LAST BIG BICYCLE RACE By Richard Mabey Jr.

It was in late August of 1970 that I took part in the big bicycle race. It was an annual event. I am pretty sure that it was held on the last Saturday of August of every year. The race began early in the morning, about 9:00 and would carry on till about 4:00 that afternoon. The morning was filled with heat races, then after we all ate our bag lunches, would continue on with the big grand bicycle race. The bicycle course ran throughout the wooded sec tion of Steinhauser Mountain in Lincoln Park. This was a 23-acre mountain top, that was part of Hook Moun tain. It was a tumultuous course, filled with big boulders and fallen trees to avoid and ride around. It was a true test of endurance. The entire bicycle course was at least a mile long. And, the big granddaddy finale race, re quired the cyclist to ride the course, four or five laps. It was by no means, a piece of cake. In late August of 1970, I was still 16 years old and was looking forward to entering my senior year at Boonton High School. I remember that my good buddy, Stuart Steinhauser, did not participate in the race that year, but

remember that I kept telling myself, “Gotta win! Gotta win! Gotta win!” It never occurred to me that I still had one more sum mer to compete. I never gave one second of consider ation of what it would have meant to Bobby Taylor to win that race. It was in the late 1970’s that Bobby Tay lor’s family moved out of state. I remember that when he came home from Vietnam that I would see Bobby at Moe’s Sweet Shop or in the Shop-Rite or just around town. We would talk for a few minutes. One Friday night, Bobby stopped by Saint Andrew’s Episcopal Church’s Thorpe Hall and visited Boy Scout Troop 170. My dad was Scoutmaster. Dad was so glad to see Bobby. I think that was the last time Dad and I were ever to see him.

Now at 71, I finally realize that winning isn’t every thing. Sometimes a person needs to take a step back and let a friend have their moment in the sun. Oh, if I could turn back the clock, but my time machine is broken. Some life lessons are hard learned. Richard Mabey Jr. is a freelance writer. He has had two books published. He hosts a YouTube Channel titled, “Richard Mabey Pres ents.” He can be reached at richardmabeyjr@gmail.com.

Yours truly, in a photo taken shortly after my last big bicycle race.

chose to take black and white photos of the race with his little box camera. I remember that there were at least 30 boys and girls who gathered togeth er that morning for the big race. By lunchtime the group of racers had dwin dled down to about a dozen competitors, due to the morning elimination races. It was a grinding bicycle race. I remember it being tough and brutal. The bottom line is that I won the race that year. I had participated in this great bicycle race, since I was about 10 years old and now, I had finally won the race for the first time. Despite the rush of glory that I felt for a few minutes, after the race, I re member that about 15 minutes after the race ended, it left me with such a hollow and empty feeling. Bobby Taylor (I took the liberty of changing his name) had come in second place. Bobby was about 19 years old and had just graduated from Boonton High School. Bobby and I were in Troop 170 together, although we were in different patrols, we were pretty good friends. Bobby had just signed up to join the U. S. Army. He knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, that he was probably going to be sent to Vietnam. Although the race was not formally organized by adults, but rather set up by a lot of the kids in the area, it was still kind of a big deal event. We all paid about a dollar entry fee and that paid for the little plaque that was awarded to the first-place winner. There was just one plaque presented. There was no second-place award. It was a different time, a different mindset. It was still old school; winner take all thinking. Bobby Taylor did go to Vietnam, in selfless service to his country. He did come home to Lincoln Park. But, respectfully, he was never the same again. Something happened to Bobby while he was in Vietnam. His joyful, fun-lov ing, happy-go-outlook on life had dissipated from his heart. The other day, I thought about that last great bicycle race that I was to take part in. It made me sad, reflecting upon it. Now at 71, I have a much greater wisdom than I did at 16. I deeply regret that I didn’t let Bobby Taylor win that race. All through that race, which was held nearly 55 years ago, I

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