Thinks happen: The Story Behind the Photograph - Lance Armstrong, The Beginning

O. J. Bruton, now fully recovered from his bicycle injury has made a life changing decision. "Maw, I'm agoing over to France to that bike race. I'll be back tomorrow. Hope my feet will reach the pedals now."

Mark H. Baker says: Outstanding shot! did you take this, and apply photoshop? Please do tell
flickr.com/groups/stop_time/
My website: http://www.mhbaker.com/

Mark H. Baker says: Just seen your tags - oh well, it's still a nice shot

tastevick says: I'd be worryin' 'bout my feets reachin' the ground straddlin' that frame. Holy cow that thing's huge.

annette 62 [deleted] says: with a bike frame like that i hate to think where exactly his injury could have been....

anyjazz65 says: M.H.: There's quite a bit of photoshop involved but no, I didn't take the original photograph. Thanks for your visit.

tastevick, annette: YES! Those were MY first thoughts too!

Dunottar says:
"'Twas Mulga Bill from Eaglehawk who caught the cycling craze.
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days.
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen.
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine.
As he wheeled it throught the door with an air of lordly pride,
The grinning shop assistant said, 'Excuse me sir, can you ride?'
'See here, young man,' said Mulga Bill, 'From Walgett to sea,
from Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
I'm good all round at everything, as everybody know,
And although I'm not one to talk, I hate a man that blows.' "

(Banjo Patterson)
The rest of the poem tells of the disaster that befell Mulga Bill on his maiden ride.

anyjazz65 says: Grand! Thanks Dunottar! It fits perfectly! I looked up the rest of the poem...

"But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight;
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel,
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel,
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight:
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode,
That perched above Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.
He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray,
But 'ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver steak,
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.

It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box:
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks,
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground,
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree,
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be;
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek.

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore:
He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before;
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet,
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; it's shaken all my nerve
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek -- we'll leave it lying still;
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."

anyjazz65 says: PS: Dunotar: And thanks for introducing me to a poet that I have missed!

Dunottar says: No worries. Australia has two legendary poets. Banjo Patterson wrote mainly light stuff. Henry Lawson wrote mainly dreary stuff (the exception being "The loaded Dog"). Both are great when you are in the right mood.

meagain625 says: Wonderful find!! You do come across the neatest pics :)

anyjazz65 says: Thanks meagain625. I do look for humor in things. It is easy to find in these old photographs.

del's1 says: i was trying t research the bike but failed ...any ideas on the date?

anyjazz65 says: Thanks delahaye1. I wouldn't know where to start on tracing the bicycle. The photo is out of focus on the front of the bike so no maker or logo is visible.

There's no other info on the card besides the name written on the back: O. J. Bruton. Considering the style of the card and the deterioration, I would put it at not more than 100 years old. Probably between 1910 and 1920. But I could be way off. Some clothing experts might be able to pin it down more.

It's a studio shot with fake grass. There is a scrap of paper lying at his feet.

moos says: Aside from the obvious injuries - I think that he lost his teeth on those handlebars, too.

anyjazz65 says: You know...I think you are right! I hadn't noticed that before...

oldog_oltrix says: It's great to meet someone else who gets intrigued by old photos! My family thinks it's a crazy pastime.

That combination of suit, collar and tie says post-WWI to me (around 1920?). The bicycle looks very much like a Pierce (the same company that made the famous Pierce Arrow autos), but it could be a knockoff of George Pierce's diamond frame by another company.

Have you read Mark Twain's essay "Taming the Bicycle?" "I started out alone to seek adventures. You don't really have to seek them -- that is nothing but a phrase -- they come to you. "

anyjazz65 says: Thanks for the input, oldog. My expertise in identifying the real age of these found photographs is seriously lacking I assure you.

Yes, the photograph has a 1920’s feel to it but your factual observations are more valid than my intuition.

As mentioned before (probably too many times) I feel that since these old photographs are undocumented and carelessly discarded or lost by the rightful owners, they are therefore open for invention of any kind as long as the photograph itself is respected. Indeed, sometimes we can give them a new life and back-story as good as or perhaps better than, the original. A new life is better than the shredder. And there is always the hope that someone will connect or recognize one photo and make our “crazy pastime” worth while.

Odd, isn’t it, how some people just don’t understand a fascination with photographs.

I have not read Twain’s essay in many years. It deserves a re-run I think. The wife and I just finished our annual tradition of “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” as read by the author, Dylan Thomas.

Thanks again for the contribution.