It wasn't 'fudgesicled' nor 'popsicled' that expressed love in the summer of '73. It was being 'Lovesicled". Not cycled but 'Lovesicled'. The day was warm, mid-June, and I had received an envelope in the mail that hadn't yet been 'kissed' shut. Could something have been forgotten or had the moisture from a licking tongue not been adequate to create a seal. It didn't matter to me, I received a love letter. Upon opening I found a very sweet "American Greetings' type of card that said something pleasant, then signed off with 'Always and a Day, Di'.

In late February of that year, I had travelled to Champaign, Illinois with fellow teammates to watch the state basketball tourney. I had been the star player, however, our efforts as a team fell short of a trip to the championship. It was the year the great Quinn Buckner put his team on his broad shoulders at Thornridge and raised the State Championship trophy. Diane, or as she often was called, Di, was a student at Thornridge. We somehow met at the multi-day event and found ourselves having an interest in 'something'. As a teenager, something could mean anything. We exchanged contact information and enjoyed what little time we had together while in Champaign.

Returning to Naperville, IL, a good 50 miles from her hometown of Crete, IL, I managed to keep in touch with Di. I hadn't gotten my driver's license yet so a phone call was the best I could muster. We were silly in our phone visits and I held onto a belief that maybe after I get permission to drive a car, I could venture down to Crete and get face-to-face with my high school sweet-heart.

There is a special time in high school when you have the opportunity to be really cool, sort of. That time for me would have been Prom. Being cool would be having a girl on my arm who was from out of town and went to the State Basketball Championship High School of Thornridge. Now that would be cool. I had a picture of Di in every pocket of trousers I owned. All my buds in school were assured of 'getting a look' at this beauty queen. My fellow classmates of the feminine persuasion could give a rat's a.... Oh, well, can't please everyone. I was so sure of being 'cool' at Prom, I didn't even give a second thought of Di not accepting my invitation.

The exact day of my journey is somewhat blurred as it took place 50 years ago. The activities of that day remain etched like a tombstone lying flat in the back depths of my memory. Receiving her card brought my spirits off the ground. I believe I could have easily dunked a basketball that day had I been given the opportunity. I had to find a way to see Di. Ever the opportunist, I decided to hi-jack my mom's beautiful 3-speed, pink bicycle and pedal to my heart's desire all the way to Crete, IL. As mentioned, a 50 mile rural journey on narrow roadways and state highways that were bordered with graveled ditches inviting wayward cyclists. I had packed a brown-bag lunch; an orange, a PB&J and some chips. I wore a sleeveless b-ball jersey, shorts and tennis shoes with socks up to my knees. I looked like I was heading to practice. Oh boy!

The journey began at 7am. No mention was made to my mom, how could I? My dad had already left for work. His demeanor of logic and use of time would have blown up my whole concept of love. I had to see this young woman. The morning was perfect, sunny, warm and not a smidgen of wind. I just had no idea how long this trip was going to take but it didn't matter. Once I began pedaling, stopping would only occur at her front door. By the way, no mention of this to Di, either. Whoops.

Utilizing my map and 5 hours of non-stop pedaling, I arrived at the front door of a young woman who was unaware of my journey. It was noon. I rapped my knuckles on the door, sweaty, hungry (my lunch bag disintegrated during the journey) extremely thirsty and love struck. The front door was one of those two door arrangements. A screen door opening outward and then the main door opening inward. The main door was already open but it was difficult to see much through the heavy mesh screen door. The look on our faces as Di came to the door could have fit into any Hollywood script.

Diane, as I now would call her, was extremely gracious in having me put my bike in the back of her family's big 'ole convertible. The drive to Joliet, IL was a bit strange, entertaining and sad. Joliet was practically the half-way point between Crete, IL and Naperville, IL. I was going to pedal back to Naperville from Joliet. Certainly better than repeating the trip I had just made.

Diane pulled over and parked the car in a McDonald's parking lot just outside of Joliet. I gathered my bike from the back seat and placed it on the ground close to her car. I put the bike-stand down and walked over to give Diane a hug. As I did, I expressed to her that I had hoped my arriving at her house as she was having lunch with her boyfriend didn't cause any embarrassment. Her response, "Always and a day, Di." I then turned and hopped on my ride and 'Lovesicled' the 20 mile journey home.

It would be many years later as I was just cruising Facebook and taking a stab at locating Diane did I find out that she really wished the invitation had been accepted. "Of course I remember you," she says. "How could I forget the young man that made a remarkable journey in '73 on a warm mid-June day to see me."

I came to learn that her married name was 'Valentine'. Doesn't that just fit the story?