The hill outside our house was a quarter-mile long, declining at a 45-degree angle. What would you do if you were 14 and had a bike? And a hill?
We lived beside a gravel road with the next neighbor a mile away. Our house was at the top of the hill. This hill could have been a major obstacle to youth with bikes.
Caution?
Caution was not such a buzz killer in those days. Before drifting cars was a thing, I was drifting on my bike.
Bikes for our family were always lean and mean. Dad picked them up at farm sales, and I, being the oldest, always got the latest find. My old bike then passed down to my brother, and so on down the line.
My favorite bike was a stripped-down black boys bike with no fenders, one speed, and coaster brakes.
Exactly what I needed.
My sister, Ann, was six at this time. The right age to join me. Not too big to mess with my balance and not so small that she’d get hurt too much if my plan didn’t work out.
I Had A Plan
Of course I had a plan. I would set Ann on the crossbar of my bike, and off we’d go. No helmets, no seat belts, no common sense.
Ann needed a little training before we took on the big hill. She had a way of panicking and twisting the handlebars. That interfered with good drifting.
I taught her many things in those days, so this was just part of the deal for an older sister. My job was to expand her horizons. Teach her to overcome.
She caught onto her bike responsibilities after a while: no panicking allowed. Trust me, I told her. When in life are you more confident in your skills than at 14?
We practiced
We practiced for several days before we tackled the hill. She was like a little monkey attached to the handlebars, her legs wrapped around the crossbar. She was a good learner. Obviously, I was a great teacher, too.
When she was ready, and not before, we scheduled our first outing. I wasn’t irresponsible.
We rolled my stripped-down black bike out onto the gravel road and she climbed onto the bar.
The Big Day
I powered the bike down the hill. Our speed increased until the fields on either side of the road were a blur of green. The summer air rushed past my face and bits of her hair blew into my teeth.
We got to the bottom of the hill, and then I stomped on the coaster brake and twisted the handlebars.
The rear wheel of the bike slid around the front and then, gravel spraying as the bike shifted direction, we were facing uphill. My sister the monkey had clung to the bike frame perfectly.
We cycled back up the hill and tried it again. It turned into a pretty exciting summer of bicycle drifting.
For the record, we both survived.
And, for the record, I’d never let our grandkids pull a stunt like that.
