The sound brought me back to my childhood days. Of fond memories running through tall grass fields as the sun settles at the horizon, a brilliant cascade of colors filling the sky. Days of playing war with friends and ridding my bike to knew and exciting parts of my little world. Where going more then ten blocks from your house was a forbidden pleasure, an adventure that burns in the deep recesses of your brain.

I'm talking about days that have inspired so many movies about the innocence of youth, the strange world around them and how it was all so new.

Moments you look back and remember fondly, deep down inside wish you could go back and relive it once again. Experience the world through the eyes of a younger, less jaded you.

One instance of this in my life happened about when I was seven years old. I remember haning out with these three guys that entire summer, two of them one year older then me and the other one two years older then me.

In time there names have faded from my mind, but the fun we had is so engrained in my psyche it was as if it happened yesterday.

This was a time of youth when all girls where icky and it was taboo to be seen with one unless you where pulling on her hair or flipping her skirt up. So the natural pecking order of boys went by who had the coolest toys and the most of them.

Coming from a fairly poor family. I was always low on the totem poll. Which, even in hindsight, I can't tell if it was a curse or a blessing. Sure I had less toys, but I apreciated and loved each of my toys like they where the holy grail of toys.

Another thing that set me apart from them was the fact I was the only one of the four of us who didn't have a bike. Because of this I always had to borrow *just for the stories purpose I'll call him*Mikes younger sister's bike. A bike considerably smaller then the rest of my friends. A bright pink frame with the dipping center bar, tassles at the handles, and a frilly little white basket with pink and baby blue flowers on the handle bar.

I hated that I had to ride this little girly bike, but if I wanted to ride a bike it was my only choice.

You see as I stated early, money wasn't something we always had at hand. Things where rough and even at a very young age I knew this. If getting a G.I. Joe action figure was something reserved for birthdays and christmas time only. How do you think they would react if I asked for a bike? So, I never bothered to ask them for one. It was just easier that way.

So with my three friends I learned how to ride a bike on that pink little frily girl's bike and despite that. I loved every minute of it.

I skippped using training wheels and just learned it the hard way. Sure this resulted in a lot of painfull, limb spraining, finger hyper extension, cuts and bruises. But hell, that shit happened even after I got good at riding a bike. Thats what happens when you do exciting *read as stupidly insane* things on your bike as a kid.

Now the town I was orginaly raised in there where hills galore all through out the town. From gently slopping mounds to hills best described as "death's" corner or "I think I'm going to die horribly painfull and slow" slope. The kinds of hills so steep that no matter how hard you peddled, your feet felt no resistence because you couldn't keep up with the speed of your bike.

One of my three friend's house was parked on a hill somewhere between "ah, this is a nice incline" to "holy mother of fucking joseph! where the hell did the road go!" kind of slope.

This being as is, resulted in a game the four of us played often through out the summer. It was a simple game really. The idea is all four of us would park at the top of his drive way, the peek of the hill. When someone said "go" all four of us would peddle furiously tell the end of his driveway. Then you would take your feet off the peddles, put them on the handle bars, and see who could coast the furthest.

This game dominated the majority of our summer time while riding bikes. Especially when it got later at night and parents would insist we stuck close to the house.

One day as all of us where parked at the top of the drive way ready to fly down it as fast as our legs can pump. We spotted this older kid ridding his bike a few blocks down to our left. As if transfixed, all four of us watched this kid ridding down the street. What caught our attention was the fact he was ridding a wheelie effortlessly the entire way.

We where amazed, astounded, flabergasted. That, by far, was the coolest thing we had ever seen. We watched the entire time as he rode on his back wheel, front wheel sitting high and proud in the air. About a block past us he gently set the front tire back down and rode on normally.

He was our new mesiah, the hero to our cause. From that moment on all four of us set out to master the ultimate wheelie. With a lot of practice I finally managed to not only learn how to do it, but became the zen master of wheelies.

Any time I wanted to I could pop a wheelie and hold it for as long as I want. It was just a matter of finding that perfect center of balance on your back tire when you had the front end up. Once you figured it out, it became second nature.

As the four of us where crusing around on our bikes. I spotted my mom walking down the sidewalk a couple blocks ahead of us. I decied I wanted to show her a nifty trick. So I began peddling hard to pulll ahead of my friends, popped a wheelie, then rode past her like that as I waved and called out to her.

The look on her face I will never forget. I had never seen her so suprised in my entire life.

A couple hours later the four of us broke apart. Heading to our respective homes for dinner.

Entering through the front door I heard my father's deep, soft, and commanding voice call my name out from the kitchen.

uh oh, what the hell did I do??

First reaction, I panicked and begain thinking of all the things I had done wrong recently. Which where usually pretty numerous, but I was more contemplating which ones did they find out and how. Then I calmed down a bit when I realized my father didn't call me by my complete name then puncuate it with a "get in here now!". When that happenend you know some shit is about to go down which will result in going to bed early with no dinner or television.

Sheepishly I made my way to the kitchen, head bowed down, dragging my feet the entire way. Sitting in his usual seat which was a old, beat up, pealing paint white chair that was completely different from the high backed kitchen chairs with helmets painted on them that surrounded our small kitchen table.

"Why didn't you tell us you could ride a bike?" My father's voice always deceptively soft, but always demanding an answer.

I was a little stuned at first, the words didn't sink into my head. I was fully ready to here about some trouble I was part of or my brother in trouble and somehow pinning some of the blame on me. So this question came at a suprise to me at first.

I answered with every kid's natural defense when possed with a confusing and/or difficult question, "I dunno."

"How long have you been able to ride a bike?" His pale blue eyes starring at me intently. The same eyes that felt like they could look into your soul and see every bit of trouble you have ever commited or thought of commiting since the moment you could walk. Add that on with the soft, deep, rumbling like voice and his ability to make every Q&A seem like the interogation before the torture. It was easy to see why my brother and I would get real nervous anytime we got called into the kitchen.

Once again I said the words that have been echoed from every child since the dawn of time, "I dunno".

After a few more questions my father finally dismissed me to the leaving room to go watch my cartoons. I was more then thrilled to go since I was already set to spend the rest of my night crying into my pillow while wailling to the heavens, "No greater injustice has been delt since the creation of man!"

Ok, so it sounded more like "This is so not fair! I hate my father! I hate him, hate him, hate him!"

It just sounded better when I put it in the words of a would be martyr.

That weekend my father told me to get in the station wagon because we where going to K-Mart. I could not have been more thrilled in my life. One, I have always loved ridding around in cars. The feeling of the wind whiping past you, the world on fast forward as you zip down the road, the feeling of freedom and adventure. And second, K-Mart was far out on the highway and I liked going as far as I could to see more of my world. So K-Mart was a rare treat since I wasn't allowed to go out there on my own. A rule that didn't stop me as I tried walking or ridding down the high way towards that part of town quite often.

As we where walking through K-Mart, my father made a b-line straight for the toys section of the store. Now even by the age of seven I knew not to get to excited about being in the toy section. In order for you to reach the lay-a-way and mail order section of the store, you have to walk through the toy section. Being a poor family things where put on lay-a-way quite often.

As my father was talking to the man behind the counter. I was standing there shuffling my feet back and forth as I stared dreamily into the toy aisle. Fantasizing about grabbing a couple grocery carts and tossing in all the toys I want and the store just letting me take all of them home with me for being special.

Being the curious type, I finally checked out what my father was doing at the lay-a-way station. As he was counting out money, this big box was sitting next to him as if he was taking it home with us. Across the box sit two black racing stripes from corner to corner, only interupeted by the word Huffy in big, bold, rounded lettering.

Huffy??? Don't they make bikes?

Yep, sure enough it was a bike, brand new, and for me.

Now there was nothing fancy about this bike. No breaks on the handle bars, no colorfull decals, no complicated gear shifts. It was a simple black bike with the word Huffy written in the same big, bold, rounded lettering in a light grey color.

It may not have been the most impressive bike you could see, but it was all mine and mine alone. And I loved that bike dearly.

It's about time - Wednesday, Jul. 07, 2004
An Honor for Chrome - Friday, Feb. 20, 2004
A great loss - Monday, Oct. 20, 2003
a terrible announcement. - Tuesday, Sept. 09, 2003
Chrome speaks: - Friday, Sept. 05, 2003