The Fastest Slow Guy You Know: High-Wheeling to Denver - Bikes were a status symbol in 1889,

Thursday, June 28, 2018

High-Wheeling to Denver - Bikes were a status symbol in 1889,

This is from the April-May, 1971 issue of Frontier Times magazine. I scanned it.

High-Wheeling to Denver

Bikes were a status symbol in 1889

By RUTH ALMY

Photos Courtesy Author

EIGHTY-TWO years ago on June 2, young Joseph Ambruster rolled into Denver on a high-wheeled bike. The front wheel was five feet in diameter and the back one about two. Ordinary bicycles were common in those days, but high-bikes were strictly for he-men and very tricky to ride, especially over rough terrain. Joe pedaled 982 miles from St. Louis to Denver in 26 days, he might have made it in less had it not rained 11 out of those 26.

It was the second time Joe had come from St. Louis to Denver in an unusual conveyance. His first trip had been made two years before. Then he had traveled in comfort and style in a luxurious railroad coach which had been custom built for the president of the new Colorado Midland Railroad, in the St. Charles, Missouri car shops where Ambruster was a stenographer. It was equipped with a kitchen, berths, bath and office room, and decorated inside and out with hand-painted scenery and fancy lettering. Joe had volunteered as personal escort when the luxury coach was attached to a freight train and headed west to the owner. He had cooked his own meals, slept late on the soft bed, and enjoyed the scenery from the open windows.

Joseph H. Ambruster posed for this photo shortly after his arrival in Denver in June 1889. He carried his League of American Wheelmen membership card as his identification on the 982-mile bicycle trip.

After his special mission had been accomplished and the keys delivered to President J. J. Hagerman who lived in Colorado Springs, Joe had returned to Denver and liked it so well he decided to stay. He located a job in the Colorado Midland Railroad office. Soon afterward he had met Sally and life took on a new dimension. Just as their friendship was progressing nicely, the company gave him a raise and sent him out on a promotional trip which took him into all parts of the country, distributing advertising material to freight and passenger agents.

By the spring of 1889 Joe found himself back in St. Louis, sick and tired of his traveling job. In an attempt to overcome his restlessness and dissatisfaction, he used most of his savings to purchase a handsome high-wheeled bicycle. For a while he enjoyed the prestige that came with being the only member of the St. Louis Bicycle Club to own a high-wheeler. He enjoyed, too, the long Sunday rides in and about the city, but eventually got bored with it all. Suddenly he was seized with an overwhelming desire to return to mountain country and to see Sally again. That was what made him set out on his second journey to Denver.

TRAVELING at his own expense and - furnishing his own power on two wheels was much rougher going than the first time. His traveling gear consisted of a water canteen, one blanket, and a bundle of clothing. For protection against animals, he had a Smith & Wesson revolver; for identification he carried his membership card in the league of American Wheelmen, then a national organization.

At the end of the first day he rolled into Union, Missouri and dismounted in front of the hotel. A crowd quickly gathered to stare in wonder at the newcomer and his strange conveyance. A young man on horseback at the edge of the crowd challenged him to a race around the courthouse square. Joe was hungry and tired after pedaling fifty-four miles over rough roads, but a challenge like that could not go unanswered. So he ran the race and won, but admitted later it was only because each time they slowed down to make a corner, the skittish horse refused to get anywhere near his queer competitor.

Near Independence, Missouri he saw angry clouds heading his way, but rode on hoping to cover a few more miles before being forced to seek shelter. Passing a farm house where a family stood on the porch watching the approaching storm, he waved to them and noticed their looks of concern as he continued on his way. Just a short distance beyond, the storm broke in sudden fury. The wind was terrific, and rain came down in sheets. The high front wheel of his bicycle began to slip and slide on the muddy road. In desperation he dismounted, leaned the bike against a wire fence and dashed back to the farm house for shelter.

By then the porch was empty. As he tried the door and attempted to enter he heard a man yell, “Don't go in there! Come over here!” Heading for the barn he heard the same voice, “Stay out of there! Its dangerous! Come in here!” The next likely place Joe saw was the hen house into which he crawled just as a blinding flash of lightning was followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Out of breath and soaking wet, he decided to stay with the chickens until the storm subsided. Finally the family emerged from a cyclone cellar in the middle of the yard. They told him that the chicken house was the worst place he could have gone. A wind storm like that, they assured him might have lifted the whole thing off the ground and carried it to a crash landing in some distant field.

Going back to his bike, Joe discovered that lightning had struck the fence and cracked the support frame of the small wheel. He returned to the farmer for advice and was told how to cut across a meadow and a neighboring field to a hard stone road leading into Kansas City. In the city he located a bicycle repair shop, and with the frame neatly mended continued on his way.

NOT ONCE did Joe have to sleep out under the stars. Most of the time he found food and lodging in small hotels or in taverns with one or two sleeping rooms upstairs. When towns were far apart he would stop at a farm or one of the section houses maintained along the railroad for workmen who kept the tracks and roadbeds in repair. Joe followed the Missouri River most of the way to Kansas City.

From there on he stayed close to the Kansas Pacific Railroad, now a part of the Union Pacific system. When he found no road nearby, there was often a foot path along the railroad right-of-way. In places where no foot path existed he bumped his way over the railroad ties. Most creeks were shallow enough to wade through while pushing the bike. At some of the larger streams there was often a hand-propelled ferry, but in many places the only way to cross a river was to climb the embankment and ride the ties over the narrow railroad bridge.

Ambruster averaged forty miles a day. His longest run in a single day was seventy-seven miles between Wakeeney and Winona, Kansas. Between towns in Kansas and eastern Colorado, he often rode for miles on end without seeing a living thing except an occasional jackrabbit or a fat prairie dog scurrying into his hole. He looked forward to the two passenger trains that passed each day. People in the coaches would open the windows and wave to him. An approaching freight train could always be identified by the peculiar clankety-clank-clank sound made by the old-fashioned non-standardized couplings which made for a lot of noisy motion between the cars. The freight's engineer would toot the whistle as the train crew cheered him on. Every turn of the bike's big wheel carried him 15.7 feet closer to his goal.

West of Limon, about sixty miles from Denver, Joe caught sight of the purple Rockies silhouetted against a clear blue sky. The last few miles of his long rugged journey seemed to dissolve in thin air. Very dusty and tired, with the backs of his hands blistered from sunburn, he arrived in Denver and put up at the American House on 16th Street and Blake.

While arranging for storage space for his bike, he learned that the hotel clerk was a cycle enthusiast and a member of the Denver Bicycle Club. Word spread quickly about the young man from St. Louis. Several club members came to welcome him to Denver, hear about his trip, and invite him to join them on their next all-day outing. Someone notified the newspaper and the following morning, June 3, a brief account of his adventure appeared on page six of the Denver News.

The next week Joe found a steady job and a comfortable boarding house in which to live. His first Sunday in town he slicked himself up in a pair of shiny shoes and a new suit, and rode out in high style to call on Sally. She seemed very happy to see him again and listened intently as he told her of his recent experiences. After several more dates together he popped the question and they were married the following spring.

Ambruster and his bride went to live in Cripple Creek but later returned to Denver where Joe became the head bookkeeper, pay master and advertising manager for the famous Windsor Hotel.