Nothing so nice as pulling the bike out on the first warm day of the year-except perhaps, pulling out a *new* one (see it sparklin'?). As temperatures raced to catch the dew point today, the mood struck for a little bit of trickery. My youth was paid in the currency of time in, or slightly above, a BMX bicycle seat. The hours there spent honed reflexes, sharpened depth perception and caused no small stir in the neighborhood's traffic patterns--and tonight the air was laden with the thick of new spring. Breathing deeply I felt the after-dinner tug of a little play.
Rolling out the trickbike, there was an electric twitter in the trees, all the neighboorhood kids peered over to observe the potential disaster of a forty-odd-year old on a Haro. I fastened my hemlet carelessly and began to study my latest acquisition against the crucible of gravity. A wheelie, and an endo or two, brought young blood coursing up from the deep wells. Logic clicked, patterns were dusted off and presented by a mind reeling with the fun of a little biking. My moves began to smooth and one young man, truly gifted with sight exclaimed " Hey, that was a TRICK!" A small group now sat tranfixed as my old retinue unfolded in fits and spurts before them.
Old school is more than my Alma Mader, its my gnarly roots. What fun! (yes, still intact).
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