To this day I still don’t know how I survived my childhood. The kid across the street was always getting into something he wasn’t supposed to and I was always the willing accomplice. Almost all of our dastardly deeds involved bikes.

My obsession with anything fast started at six or seven years old. When I got my first bike, one of the first things I did was change the sprocket to make it go faster. Even back then I think the term “adrenaline junky” could have been applied when referring to me.

On a summer day you could always find ten to twenty kids at the school outdoor basketball court. They were not there to play ball but to race bikes on the cement courts. There were about six courts across a rectangle-shaped area.

We ranged in age from about eight to fourteen, dressed in shorts and tennis shoes – or no shoes – racing around that track as fast as we could peddle.

Wrecking was not a case of if, but when. There was always a lot of blood before it was over.

The rules were that there were no rules. I learned several important life lessons; one of which was: second place is just first loser.



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