Play with what's left, will you?

First things, first.

On this very important Veterans Day, I'd like to welcome first time readers.

I'd also like to say that I am continuing to be amazed by the rate at which time flies when you're just trying to live the best life you can... So much transpires on any given day... These things expedite life on many levels. It can be all-consuming taking you away from the big picture. Of course, many of us spend the entirety of our professional days trying to figure out what that BIG PICTURE looks like, but I trust that you get my point. And when we get a glimpse of what color the soul of the picture is, it all disappears leaving you wanting more... A leftover for tomorrow to get on with it and just live... Time is truly flying and we're approaching 2010 like a comet without a name.

I rarely read what I write, but I just read the passage above... I'm sorry, but it does make "some" sense to me. I'm allowed to be "that guy" from time to time. I assure you that every aspect of OMS means something, even if it's just for me. Thanks for scrolling my way, friend. You, too, my dearest friend.

Next up: This is the part where I will date myself and make myself seem older than I am... According to a manufacturer's sticker on a bicycle I recently spied, I learned these 4 things...

1) Always wear a helmet.
2) Check brakes before riding the bicycle.
3) Do not ride at night.
4) Read Owner's Manual.

Okay, here we go... I must treat this topic with gentle gloves. The reasons are obvious to anyone raising a family. Or to anyone who has dropped some coin on a bicycle for someone under the age of 18 over the last several years... Keep in mind that I am not talking about 10 or 12 speeds or any other incarnations of a bikes with speeds. I'm talking about a good old fashioned bike that is meant to speed up and down dirt trails.

Let's look at #1. I know, I know... Before you say it, I'll shout it.

(cut to me shouting at a group of Benbrook residents in front of the Fire Station on Mercedes with a red dry-erase marker in my right hand with a salty tall boy in my left hand)

"Where have you been? This is the law and we have to live by it because if we don't, we'll get into trouble and we might even be sent to Time Out by someone in a uniform. They said that we might pay a price, too, because they need more security personnel at the Arts Festival in May. Listen up, it's not about how well they ride, it's what they're wearing to protect themselves from getting hurt. That's what counts. Expect the crash, but soften the blow. It's a safety thing because common sense now has a price. Tighten up your chin straps and quit complaining, okay?"

Let me just say that I appreciate rules and I respect things that turn into laws... And, for our purposes tonight, everything from this point on is me reading these 4 rules as the 6 to 12 year old that I was when I was 6 to 12 years old, but with my modern day spin.

I will say this about #1... As a little dude, helmets were not a thing you pimped while you popped wheelies and jumped mounds with your buddies. If I showed up to the scene donning a protective helmet, I would have been exiled to the other side of 377 where Stum's used to be... (this will only make sense to the ones who lived in my neighborhood) Or I would have been asked, "Is everything okay, man? Are you in trouble?" It was our time and it was our place. Our stupid makeshift haircuts were meant to blow in the wind. The feeling still rocks, by the way. Harnessing your mullet in by styrofoam covered in plastic? Whatever. As a kid, if you had hard plastic on your head, you must have been hitting baseballs on a baseball field. That was the ONLY excuse that counted...

Here's a related, but unrelated secret... I'm 87% certain that if I were told I had to wear a helmet to ride my bike to the Qwik Sak up the street as an 8 year old, my confidence rate with Lesli Thompson would have shriveled up before I even hit the 5th grade. And asking Jessica Smith to hold my hand would have not even been on the table as I would have been less than who I was meant to be. I needed that confidence, y'know? It mattered then... I suppose it doesn't matter now, but I wasn't afraid of the fall and the scuffed up knees. As dudes, bruises were our tattoos. Some people might even say that a little crash and burn can make you feel more alive than ever... I'm getting off topic here...

About #2... Brakes? Huh? What brakes? Oh, you mean halting the pedals and steering to one side kicking up dirt all bad-ass-like? Those brakes? If you're referring to handle brakes (and I feel like you are), I have no idea what you're talking about because those came into play late in the game. If you had them, you had a Mongoose. I didn't... Check your brakes... Right. Roger that.

#3. You're kidding, right? Someone is playing a joke on me, right? I'm being punk'd, right?

Side note: Right now, I hate myself because I just referenced Ashton Kutcher in my beloved blog. I feel dirty. Not good.

Moving on... Riding my bike at night was like eating Neapolitan ice cream right out of the bucket in front of a good "I Love Lucy" episode. I didn't have many opportunities to ride at night, but when I did, I cherished each minute with so much of my spirit. Riding at night was a gift and while it was somewhat dangerous, it was thrilling to be out there under the stars where the car noises sounded so much softer. It was always understood that riding your bike at night was not to be a Best Practice, but to be told not to, would make me want to that much more... That's just the way I feel.

And finally, #4 and the Owner's Manual. Not much to say here because you know where I'm going with this... A manual of any kind for a toy of any kind was not a part of the deal in my neck of the woods. When a bike came onto the scene, like a dog in a pond, you just went for it... You thanked your parents and began the next stage. Don't ask questions, just go. If you needed training wheels, you needed training wheels. So what, who cares? You had a bike! In a matter of minutes, you learned what you could do and what couldn't be done on a bike. An owner's manual would just slow me down. I had asses to kick down the street. I had a bike and I was the captain.
I loved my first bike. A black Huffy with a blue and orange accents. A number plate with a "40" across the handle bars and a million spokes. And the softest banana seat ever... No shit. My second and last "kid" bike was a slight upgrade only because it had a yellow frame with a blue seat. The yellow mags killed and the blue tires turned heads. And as he grew older, every paint chip signified something big. I loved it as it was my best friend for a long, long, long, long time. It made me a champion in my own mind. And I will forever be grateful to my parents for giving those bicycles to me. They started something I'm still finishing... And that, to me, is special.

Hey, look at the time. Time to wrap it up...

I guess I'm behind the times with my rant, but I know what it was like when I was young. You remember in your own way, too. I can only speak for myself, but it was golden. I (sometimes) feel that if we altered that path, it would take something away from our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters. Don't you ever feel that way? That was then, I know, and times have changed. I suppose that our young ones will grow up the same way we did, but I'm not convinced that this is true. But it's not worth arguing because society has changed and the paths we are being asked to take are changing...

Suddenly, I hear a certain drumbeat calling my name. In the background, there it is...

And for all I know, I should have been wearing a helmet on my head when I made my inaugural jump down Devil's Drop in Timbercreek that summer. But I know, deep down, that I'm better off because when I strap on my helmet today, I think about how I had a choice then... Actually, it was freedom. That's it. Maybe that was the choice.

Be kind to the lawmakers. And always look both ways. Right on.

This post is dedicated to the boys who rode by my side. You know who you were... Thank you.

Goodnight.

bsm*

"Look, no hands!"