Damien at the Speed of Life

Getting a bike at Christmas is a rush for a boy. Watching a boy get a bike for Christmas is a rush for a dad. When I was about 9 or 10, my parents responded to a request I made for a BMX bike. Now, before I continue, let me just assign a little bit of meaning to that adjective “BMX.” ALL the guys in 5th grade had BMX bikes. Some even raced at the track in some “far-off” fantasy place (I think now it was somewhere in Fountain Valley, California but back then it had a mystical netherworld quality whenever mentioned). My brother and I raced our outmoded “Schwinn’s” on a makeshift dirt-track. Watching the older, more serious BMX-ers use the “ski-jump,” as they called it, go around the “berms,” and race through the straight places made us fall victim to the BMX disease. A few features of the BMX bike back then were: 1) The HARO handbrake. I wonder if this is even still a company. 2) Alloy rims (the idea was – the lighter the metal, the lighter the bike. 3) Oakley rubber handgrips. These were huge with us. Before Oakley ever made sunglasses or even goggles, they excelled in making handgrips. Wishing for each of these features on a BRAND MAKE frame, like DiamondBack or Red-Line, invaded our every waking thought. Oh, and I almost forgot, colored rubber tires were the icing on the cake of a CHOICE BMX bike. I’ll never forget that morning my brother and I woke to find our bikes replete with all the aforementioned bells and whistles. I in my DiamondBack and he in his Red-Line, we spent most of Christmas break wearing in our tools of destruction down at the dirt-track. I think we even once got taken to a pay-track like the one we’d only dreamt about before. We were in the game now. The Schwinn’s set aside in the garage, we now had our BMX bikes to SHRED up the after-school afternoons and weekends with. To a 9-10 year old boy, this technicolor experience is almost not worth trying to blog about. They were times and bikes that made us COOL . . . to anyone who has achieved coolness . . . that will make sense!

Now, in 2006-2007, a shiny red bike sits in our garage. It’s for my son who has asked Santa for it. The handbrake isn’t HARO, the grips simply rubber without a name, and the tires are of course standard black. Part of me feels guilty for not traveling to the local BMX store and assembling the dream bike for my son. But it isn’t the trend these days. I don’t think he’d know the difference between a HARO and a HUFFY. It is nontheless a beautiful bike. Recalling my wonder years, you can bet I’ll be all-but-eating popcorn as he uncovers it Christmas morning. It’s not a pellet gun, it’s not guitar like last year, but it’s a BIKE. A symbol of freedom for my 8 year old. The travel to his friend’s at the end of the long street we live in will now be not far enough . . . if you know what I mean! Some things change in 18 years, but the freedom of a boy grinding the gear wheels as he picks up speed on his bike is timeless ladies and genetlemen . . . as P.Diddy (a star about my age who likely had a BMX mike of his own) is wont to say: “Ya feel me?”

~~~~~ Blog Carnival Submissions Below ~~~~~ Thank you!

* Silicon Valley Blogger presents Christmas Is For Kids, And Don?t I Forget About It! posted at The Digerati Life.

* Jon Swift presents John Derbyshire’s Wonderful Life posted at Jon Swift.

* Chris Dolley presents Why you should never leave your husband alone at Christmas. posted at Author Chris Dolley’s Page.

* Caroline Latham presents Tis Better to Give Than to Receive posted at SharpBrains: Your Window into the Brain Fitness Revolution.