MOVE IT!

Last week when I was out walking in the neighborhood, a group of rowdy kid bicyclists zipped by me, the little snot-nosed brats, and I had a flashback.

I was around 5 or 6 when I learned how to manhandle a two-wheeler, which I first rode in the backyard since crash landings on grass didn’t hurt like they did on concrete. Before long, I was making the scene on my red racer, carrying on conversations with my make-believe friends, and eventually I graduated to cruising around with real-life pals. I thought I was the fastest bad-ass biker on Robinson Street.

When we wanted to be extra cool, Beans and I would bring out some old baseball cards and clothespin them to our bike spokes. This was supposed to make the bikes sound like they had heavy-duty motors, but in hindsight I guess the noise just sounded like, well, flapping baseball cards.

The picture above was taken during the tricycle years before I became street legal, but notice how totally cool I looked in those hot sunglasses. Even at an early age, The Flaming Bore was keen on being a biker chick, ready to burn some rubber in her stylish coat and saddle oxfords. Pump those pedals, baby!

Oh, these rowdy neighborhood kids don’t know who they’re messing with. In my heyday, I could have blown them right off the road. “Get outta my way, you slow pokes!!! This is MY street!!” Queen of the Asphalt. Sweet.