Brakes?

Brakes? Don’t need no stinkin’ brakes. There was a time when all we had was the coaster brake. Remember the days of seein’ who could lay the longest skid mark. Ah, those were the days of simple bikes. No Grip shift. No XTR. All the fancy European bikes had 10 speeds an’’ skinny tires an’d were always gettin’ flats. Them were the days. 

‘Member goin’ over ta McCulics’ hill an’ lookin’ down the vert you were attemptin’ to hurl yerself down. Yer friends starin’ at it thinkin’ if they would be next ‘er get called the heinous names like scaredy cat ‘er chicken. That was the worse thing back then. Ta get labeled as a chicken was worse than gettin’ smooched by yer Grandma in public. 

So here you are sittin on yer trusty Huffy 20 inch’r lookin’ down. You really can’t see the bottom too well but you know ‘bout half way down there’s a jump you made from last years sleddin’. That jump caused Jamie Summers ta get his bell rung really bad. Yer lookin’ down thinkin’ ‘bout the back brake that yer gonna be tryin’ ta use on the way down. Wounderin’ if it’s gonna go out like it did over on Randolph Street last year. Yer palms are sweatin’ inside of yer dads work gloves an’ yer gettin’ the knot in yer gut. 

Three of yer runnin’ bud’s are sittin’ there with you. They don’t say much. They look down the hill an’ then at you then down the hill a’gin. Well it’s show time. You roll up ta the edge an’ creep the front wheel onto the lip an’ stick yer Converses on the flat pedals. Now!  You hit it!  The speed builds quickly. ‘Fore you know it the line you was tryin’ ta follow is a blur an’ yer makin’ mistakes right an’ left. Oh no!  Here comes the jump an’ yer on the wrong side of it!  Try ta make it. Gettin’ outta shape an’ you hit the brake. Big mistake. The back end starts comin’ ‘roun’ an’ yer really scared ‘bout now. You got yer butt planted on the banana seat an’ you feel the bike goin’ side ways. Up the jump, Jamie Summers’ injury comes ta mind an’ everything is in slow motion, jus like that western “The Wild Bunch”. 

You see the ground comin’ up ta meet you. Before you can put yer hand’s down ta protect yer face it becomes a becomes a plow. Everything’s a blur. Over an’ over you roll, arms an’ legs floppin’ this way an’ that as you can feel grass an’ dirt bein’ shoved up yer nose as you tumble on down the rest of the hill. Then everything is quite. You wanna start bawlin’ right off, but it comes ta mind that you might be called a sissy. Slowly you open yer eyes as yer breath comes back ta you, yeppers breathin’s a good thing ‘bout now.

You roll over onto yer back an’ you can feel the bike is wrapped up in yer legs. Kick it off. Nope. That’s not gonna work. Slowly the world comes inta view. You sit up an’ see that yer Levi’s are caught in the chain. You look up the hill an’ you see yer fiends up there whoopin’ an’ hollerin’ like a bunch Indian’s. You reach inta yer pocket an’ pull out yer barrow knife an’ cut yer jeans so you can stand up. Man, mom’s not gonna like my pants bein’ cut. Oh well. 

You stand up an’ survey the ol’ body ta see what don’t work an’ what does. Not bad. A coupla big knots on the ol’ fore head an’ a decent cut on yer fore arm. Cool. That’s it. You look at the bike. It’s not bent too badly. Looks like the high risers are bent pretty bad. You put one foot on the handle bar an’ pull hard till it gets good ‘nuff so you can steer again. Then comes the test. Will those brakes work? Yeah! They still work!  

Yer frien’s’ come down the back way cause yer crash is still too vivid in their minds ta even try the hill. Single speed an’ coaster brakes. You could trash yerself an’ the ol’ bike would still get you home. Then it’s off to get some soda an’ start the yarnin’ ‘bout this an’ that.

That’s the way it useta be. Hoserr