Seals and Crofts puts me in mind of Mason City. Mason City is in Iowa, but specifically I place this music and city in the time it first peaked, the early and mid-1970’s. I recall a bend that we’d take, in town, away from Birdall’s ice cream, onward to my grandparents’ home. The distance was less than two miles.
The bend itself was exciting, as far as car travel goes. It was getting off a major artery, then skitting through a brief residential area, past a Dale Carnegie library, then back on another thoroughfare. A park, a Piggly Wiggly, not in that order, then turn left, all to the thumping of reluctantly powerful pop.
Did all of these elements line up? You bet they did. It was still afternoon, I knew I could get in a good bike ride on my uncle’s orange 2-brake Schwinn, pump the area and see who was around to hook up with after dinner. Unless, of course, Grandpa decided to take us to Birdsall’s.
I was cultivating and coasting the bend, the orange bike power and, of course, Seals and Crofts harmonies. Without evening knowing it, I was scoring my life.