Being the boy in the family, it was my job to accompany Dad on the “manly” excursions such as those to the muffler shop or hardware store. One of my favorite trips in this category was to the local welder.
In those days people didn’t throw things way when they broke—you made at least a valiant effort to facilitate a repair. And that meant an occasional trip to get something welded. These trips increased dramatically when, for my 12th or 13th birthday I got a mini-bike, a small, motorized cycle made out of bent tubing welded together into a frame. Click on any image for a larger version.
Mini-bikes were a mini-fad in the mid- to late 1960s, the publication date for these ads. I was glad to discover they’re still sold today, though I haven’t seen one on the streets in many years. I suspect law enforcement has discouraged such vehicles, or maybe it’s safety-minded parents. Even back then we had to keep one eye out for the local police, who would send us home when they caught us riding on the street.
Part of the regular maintenance of something made of welded-together tubing is frequent trips to the welding shop for repairs. This was particularly true if your mini-bike model had no suspension and hit each bump and pothole with bone-crushing force.
So every few months my dad and I would load up the car on a Saturday and head to the “industrial” part of town. There, amid auto junkyards, machine shops, and trade businesses, was a small shop next to a large lot full of dilapidated and broken things.
My father probably could have welded things himself, but he lacked the proper equipment.
Simple welds were usually while you waited, so I got to watch the process. I was always told to look away from the light, but that was it as far as customer safety precautions. I loved the smell and the sparks.
These trips weren’t all positive. Occasionally a trip to the welder came at the end of a day-long and exasperating effort to fix whatever it was by some other means. This made my father cranky.
The mini-bike provided other bonding experiences, as well. There was learning about oil changes, how clutches work, and how it felt to get zapped by a spark plug wire.
Eventually I graduated from the mini-bike to a car, and that led to more independence and less time spent with my dad. I sold the mini-bike to a neighbor; when it left our driveway, so did the trips to the welding shop.
A few years ago I had to have a part welded for a printing press I had in my garage, and I thought of my father. Thanks to him it was no big deal. Only this time I didn’t get to watch or soak in the smell.
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This article was last modified on May 15, 2023
This article was first published on June 10, 2011
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