Chapter 1: Bright College Days

I didn’t just pick my college out of the blue. It was one of several possible choices that I toured with my grandparents. Russian River Community College had a summer semester, so there were students on hand that I could talk to. Most of the ones I talked to were female. Some of them were enthusiastic about the college and said it would be hard to switch to a state college since they would lose the comfortable and close feeling they had at R2C2. I wasn’t sure they were serious about “close and comfortable.” My high school had almost three thousand students, while the college had sixteen thousand. That was going to take some getting used to. In my mind, however, the female opportunity window was much bigger. Nonetheless, the real bottom line was the ability to stay close to my grandparents and my brother John.

I enrolled in the basic required courses for first year and settled into college life. I let the athletic department know I was interested in trying out for the baseball team. They put my name down on a list and said I’d be contacted. I wondered if that was true. I didn’t get the feeling that they were desperate for new players.

It was probably just as well that I didn’t get involved with any sport that fall. I had some difficulty in adjusting to college life and it really took more effort than I was used to. However, with the help of some tutors, and my enhanced memory, I adapted and felt reasonably confident I would pass my courses at the end of the fall semester. I did make it through quite easily, but not with academic brilliance. After all, I had to reserve some time for the ladies.

It was a good lesson, however, in what it was going to take to succeed in both my academic and social life. The campus was crawling with good looking young women and a guy could easily become distracted. I was approached by a number of these young fillies during the fall, asking who I was and where I was from. What they really wanted to know was if I was dating anyone. As a result, there was no shortage of nubile young females to choose from ... and yes, I did choose; randomly and regularly.

My grandparents lived just outside Healdsburg, only ten miles or so from campus. I didn’t need to live on campus, but I did need transportation. I had some money saved from my summer job at Gramps’ hardware store, so I looked around for a way to commute from home to the campus. I found an older motorcycle for sale at a reasonable price. When it rained, I got wet until I bought some proper outerwear to stay dry. Some of the guys made fun of me, thinking my Honda 250 wasn’t as cool as a Harley, but there was a certain vibe that it gave off to the girls. Maybe my reputation with them was part of it, and the bike cemented it place. In any event, it was the best transportation I could afford, and besides, there were those side benefits.

I made arrangements with Gramps to borrow his car if I was going out on a date. He and Gramma encouraged me to be socially active and I took advantage of their generosity. There was always a summer job waiting for me at his hardware store, but during the school year I had to exist on the allowance I was given. That allowance was doled out to me from an account that my grandparents had set up from my parents’ insurance. Fifty dollars a week was barely enough for my needs when I was dating, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask for more.

The tryouts for the baseball team commenced in December, and happily they did contact me. The season began in January, so I didn’t have a lot of time to prove myself. I’m left-handed, so the only positions I could play were in the outfield or first base. I reported to the coach and we went through the usual drills after I’d had a full physical. I was pronounced fit, and with my glove and shoes in my sport bag, I headed for the diamond and my first practice.

I won’t brag, but I’ve got a good, strong arm and I swing a decent bat. I’ve got plenty of “pop” and can hit the ball out of most ballparks. It was even easier with the aluminum bats we would be using. I did have one weakness, however. I couldn’t hit a curve ball or a slider with any regularity. Fastballs at 90 didn’t bother me, but a slider or curve at 75 or 80 would fool me more often than not. It wasn’t long before the coaches spotted my shortcoming.

“Miller, we’ve got to get you working on hitting something other than fastballs,” the hitting coach told me.

“It’s Minter, Sir,” I corrected him. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I really want to make this team.”

I guess my attitude was such that he decided to give me some extra instruction. It didn’t take right away, but gradually, as I learned to “find the ball” early in the pitcher’s delivery, I started to recognize what was coming. That was the first step to making good contact with the ball. Then, he began to drill me on hitting to the opposite field. I’m left-handed, but I bat right. He said it was very important to advance runners on base by hitting behind them. That was another new skill I had yet to develop.

I had no problem with my fielding. I could run and catch with the best of them, and my arm was strong and accurate, so I could be a defensive replacement if my bat went sour. By the middle of January, I knew I had made the team, but didn’t know if I was going to be a regular player.

Our team looked like most baseball teams in the early ‘90’s, a mix of white, Hispanic, and a few blacks. To tell the truth, the black guys seemed to gravitate towards basketball. I never did figure out why.

I played in our first two games against San Rafael and we got beat pretty badly. They were the conference powerhouse and we were pretty much a new team with unproven players. I got a couple of hits, both of them off fastballs, but otherwise my batting average was nothing to write home about. I was used to hitting in the mid-three-hundreds, but in this league it was going to be much more difficult to achieve that kind of average.

I had to adjust my schedule to accommodate my academic courses and the necessary study. Coach made it crystal clear that not keeping my grades up would get me either benched or off the team entirely. It was the same rule for everyone. I loved to play, so the incentive to study and make the grades was quite strong.

As the season progressed, I began to understand just what the coach was trying to teach me about “seeing the ball.” If I concentrated, I generally could tell early on what kind of a pitch was coming. Most of the pitchers at this level don’t have many exotic pitches. Mostly, we’d see fastballs, curveballs, and sliders. Only one or two guys could throw a change-up properly. As I learned to spot what was on the way, I could adjust my swing to meet where I thought the ball would end up as it passed the plate. Two things happened when I learned that. First, I got a lot more walks on pitches that weren’t strikes. Second, I could spot a “hanging curveball” more easily and take advantage of it. My average began to climb.

Being on a college team ... any team ... is often a magnet for the young ladies. That proved to be true for me. I wasn’t interested in a steady girlfriend, but I was definitely interested in dating. The bold ones would introduce themselves as they gathered around the diamond to watch us play or practice. The coaches would shoo them away if they were distracting the players, but that was only mildly effective. We knew who was hunting whom and it was easy to allow yourself to get caught.

Ardelle Morrison was a classic California girl. About five-foot-six with blonde hair and blue eyes, she was quite a nice looking young woman. Not blessed with a spectacular build, but very nice nevertheless. I’d seen her hanging out with her friends, usually up in the grandstands behind the dugout. She seemed very confident among her peers. I’d seen her around the campus and knew her first name, but I had no idea she was interested in me. However, I could certainly become interested in her. So I was only mildly surprised when she introduced herself.

“Hi, you’re Nick Minter, aren’t you,” she smiled as she approached me after a practice.

“Yeah ... I am. And you’re Ardelle something. Sorry, I don’t know your last name.”

“Morrison,” she smiled.

It was a very nice smile. I decided to take the initiative. “No, I’m not,” I grinned.

“You’re not what?” she wondered, mystified at my comment.

“Dating anyone presently? What about you?”

I’d caught her completely by surprise and she was temporarily at a loss for words. After a couple of awkward moments, she responded.

“No ... I’m not either.”

I gave her my best smile. “Perhaps we could go out this weekend? Anything you’d especially like to do?”

She looked totally flummoxed by my immediate invitation and direct question. “I’ll have to think about that. I ... I ... didn’t expect it to happen this fast,” she managed.

“What didn’t you expect to happen?” I said, enjoying having this otherwise self-assured young lady off balance.

“You surprised me. I thought I might have to ... I don’t know what I thought,” she finally said, still looking confused.

“I didn’t intend to upset you. But, since you took the initiative to talk to me, I thought we could cut through the awkward preamble and get directly to the issue. It would appear I might have made things more confusing.”

“You’re different,” she said after examining me eye-to-eye. “You’re not like the other jocks.”

“I don’t think of myself as a jock, particularly. I’m just a student playing a game I really enjoy.”

“Oh ... that’s different, I guess,” she said, still seemingly uncomfortable.

“Maybe not,” I chuckled. “Anyway, my question stands. What would you like to do this weekend if you decide you’d like to go on a date with me?”

“Let me think about it,” she said, gradually getting her equilibrium back.

“Sure. I’m not hard to find. Let me know. Right now, I’m hot and dusty and I need a shower, so I’ll expect to hear from you later on, okay?”

“Uhhm ... yeah ... okay,” she said, apparently still not too sure about what she’d got herself into.

I don’t want to give you the impression I was being a smart-aleck or rude. I do like to use my vocabulary to establish that I’m not a “dumb jock.” Not that there were any dumb jocks on the team that I was aware of. I don’t know why I decided to unsettle Ardelle Morrison. I wasn’t trying to upset her, but I was feeling quite bold that afternoon. After all, she had approached me. I was sure she knew full well who I was. Someone must have told her, which means she was at least curious. It could have been any one of the girls I’d previously dated. I just decided to short-cut the whole process and get to the heart of the matter. She wanted a trial date with me and I was quite prepared to accept.

My initial impression of Ardelle was that she was quite innocent. I don’t know exactly why I thought that, but she was uncertain about meeting me and that’s what led me to that conclusion. Less than a day later, she approached me as I exited the cafeteria.

“Hi, Nick. How are you?” she said with a very nice smile.

“I’m fine, thank you, Ardelle. And you?”

“Me too. About that date. Would Saturday be okay for a picnic? It’s supposed to be nice that day.”

“A picnic? That’s a surprise,” I grinned. “Sounds like fun. Any special place in mind?”

“Well, I know a nice place up at the top end of the Alexander Valley. It’s got some shade trees and some grassy areas. I can make up the picnic basket, so you don’t have to do anything,” she explained.

“Okay, but ... you’re going to a lot of trouble. Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

“Well, there is one thing,” she said shyly. “I’d like a ride on your motorbike. I’ve even got a helmet ... if you agree that is.”

“Hah! I usually get laughed at about the bike,” I said with surprise. “If the lady wants a ride, the lady gets a ride,” I said with a bow.

“Goody!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around me and giving me a nice kiss in thanks.

I didn’t expect quite that reaction. I wasn’t objecting, of course, but there was a slight problem.

“Ardelle, I’ll give you all the rides you want on the bike, but I don’t think that will work for the picnic. I can handle another person, but not with luggage or a basket. We’ll have to make do with a car for Saturday.”

“Okay,” she agreed immediately, “as long as I get that motorbike ride.”

“So ... what’s so special about my bike?” I asked, knowing one of the attractions it held.

“You’re on it and I get to hold onto you,” she said with a big smile.

“Oh. Well, I’m all in favor of that. Tell you what, you bring your helmet Friday after class. I’ll take you down to the Tasty Freeze and we’ll share a sundae. Okay?”

“Oh, that sounds terrific,” she beamed, grabbing me for another quick kiss. I already liked this enthusiasm of hers. Maybe she wasn’t quite as inexperienced as I thought. Whatever, it bode well for our Saturday date.

We had no ballgame on Friday afternoon, so I had no problem waiting for Ardelle at the campus common. She arrived with several of her friends in tow.

“Hi, Nick. I brought my helmet,” she smiled, holding up a bicycle helmet for me to see.

“Okay, I guess that’s good enough,” I smiled in return. I’d worn a helmet as a condition of my grandparents allowing me to buy the motorbike. Not a lot of the motorcycle crowd were happy with the law demanding helmets, but I wasn’t about to test fate with a passenger. Law or no law, I wanted any passenger to wear some head protection. I hoped that Ardelle’s helmet would provide that protection.

Her girlfriends weren’t in awe of my machine. It wasn’t the only motorcycle on campus, but with Ardelle climbing on behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist, I got over it. She had a book bag slung over her shoulder crosswise, preventing it from sliding off. I thought we were safe enough, so with a wave to the girls, we took off at a reasonable pace.

My bike didn’t have a lot of horsepower, so it wasn’t like we were going to burn rubber or do a “wheelie” as we left. It was a well-used Honda CB250 that I’d bought for less than five hundred dollars. I spent a lot of time cleaning it up, making it run reliably and look respectable. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but Ardelle seemed very content with it and held onto me as we motored off toward the Tasty Freeze.

“So, what are you studying?” I asked as we sat, sharing a sundae.

“English and Art,” she replied. “I want to get into interior design. If I can, I want to write about it as well.”

“Well, that’s different,” I said. “How do you connect the two together?”

“I’ve been thinking that when I look at the most recent designs that are published, they all look alike,” she said, waving her spoon as she talked. “So, I’ve been going backwards in time to see what other concepts might be just as attractive ... maybe more so, than the cookie-cutter stuff I see today.”