NYC XYZ said:This is why I love bike-riding -- a perfect blend (the perfect balance)
between reason and non-reason!
Dominick was crazy. When boys were expected, like hand-me-down pants,
to grow into them, he took his over-sized balloon tired standard of the
day and did things on that bike that BMX riders today only dream about.
During recess, he'd rampage the school yard sending masses of kids
rushing in one direction or the other to avoid being run over by him.
Screaming children would practically knock each other out of the way
while they'd scramble up twelve step staircases thinking that they
could get away from him and his bike.
Dominick learned to avoid our corner of the yard though---at least when
I was there. After the first time he sent us running, I stood my ground
and launched a stick-ball mop handle through his front wheel.
He ended up on his ass---but only for a moment.
Off school grounds, the streets, sidewalks, curbs, rain gutters, old
trolley train tracks, even the tops of not so low walls were all
bikeways for Dominick.
And this was over forty-years ago when even construction workers wore
no helmets and storm drains could swallow VWs.
Eventually, we would have races under the els to see who got to the
next station faster than both the overhead train and eachother.
There wasn't one race which didn't make 'The French Connection' look
like kindergarden.
I'd read Twain, Hugo, Harte, Freud, etc. and etc---at least three books
a week, but always after the races.
I don't think Dominick ever read anything though.
I'm not sure if that guy even ever got off his bike---until the last
time.