I can’t speak for all kids when I say what the purpose of having a BMX bike was.

For my brother and I, it was two things, to go faster and further than we ever had before. Sure, you can go exploring on foot but the day you got a BMX was when the world opened up to you. As a kid, you could only imagine the speeds you could accomplish while pedaling your heart out. Places that seem so far away were now within reach. As long as you didn’t get caught by mum on her way back from the shops.

That was always fun to explain. Exactly how did you make it to the other side of town by *not* crossing the highway or using the road behind the racecourse that the trucks hurtled down to bypass the traffic lights through the main streets? You would come up with the most convoluted route, using a number of back streets that would make a navigator proud. Mum was satisfied; she’d remind us to be home by dark and would leave us to our own devices.

Of course, we had used the road behind the racecourse, it was quicker (the trucks had already figured this out) and we obviously made it to our destination in one piece, not even an issue really, kids are invincible until they are about 21. They then get slogged with “real life” and get the fun and invincibility sucked out of their very existence.

Another added bonus of using the racecourse bypass and going by the car yards was Maccas. The moment you realize you control your own destiny is when not only can you ride anywhere you want, you can ride to the Golden Arches and order anything on the menu within your limited budgetary constraints. That right there, when you have a bike and the entire town to discover is when you realize one day, every day will be like this. Not dodging cars in roundabouts mind you, but tempting fate, making bad decisions, and living (sometimes only just) with the consequences.

Living with the consequences seemed to go hand in hand with riding your bike. Tempting death caused solely by how fast you could pedal seemed to make life exciting. You want more excitement? Pedal faster. Can’t pedal faster? Find a hill, the biggest you can find.

Occasionally my brother and I conned the kids mum next door into letting them go riding with us. I was the eldest and was supposed to be the responsible one. I liked to think of it being the ideas guy instead. Sure, we can dodge cars on the way to the corner store, but wouldn’t you prefer to go faster than you’ve ever gone before? (Spot the recurring theme here)

There was a road on a hill near our house. It started on a small slope and got steeper and half way down flattened out. What a waste I hear you think. Not at all. Before the days of gears on our bikes, the flat stretch on the way down was a blessing in disguise. Remember when you pedal as fast as you can, and the wheels take over, spinning the pedals faster than you can, leaving you at the mercy of the road? The flat stretch solved that problem. It slowed the rear wheel down enough to let you continue pedaling, reaching a faster speed than you could possibly achieve on a single hill. When the hill started again you were going faster than before and once again at the mercy of the Asphalt Gods of Sunday Arvo.

Naturally we didn’t start on this hill. We weren’t sure how fast we could go or how to stop at the bottom. We went with the safer option. The freshly poured concrete driveway that ran on a 50 degree angle to a new property. 250 metres of the Industrial Estates finest. We knew it was there because we passed the concrete trucks as they drove past us by the Racecourse a month earlier.

So here we were, the four of us staring down this manmade masterpiece and possibly death, in the face. E, the youngest went first. The driveway was wide enough for the four of us and so he took the right hand side, letting out a whoop as he disappeared from view leaving the three of us at the top. His brother gave us a grin and took off after him, taking the middle of the driveway.

We didn’t have to worry about cars. It seemed like the owners had run out of money and after having completed access to their block of land, had nothing to actually move onto it. It became our right, no, responsibility to christen this engineering marvel.

I looked to my brother, asking if he wanted to go next. He said no and so I began my trip down, taking the path that would lead me to stop between the two brothers. As the wind whistled through my hair I looked to the bottom of the driveway to scope how we were going to end this adventure.

It had already ended. Evan had hit a patch of leaves and had more than likely stacked it. His bike was lying down on his leg. He was trying to roll around in pain but was blocked by the weight of the bike on him. This quickly stopped being a problem as his brother came hurtling down and hit the bike, knocking it off him. This lead to a second body on the driveway, his fall cushioned by his younger brother.

Next it was my turn. I had watched this all unfold before my eyes at probably 15 KPH. (This problem of unknown speed would soon be resolved but would lead to more disastrous consequences)

I had nowhere else to go. I tried to shout a warning back up to my brother as I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. Two kids and their bikes spread across a driveway leaves you absolutely nowhere to go. I’d like to think if I could relive that moment I’d do something cool, or save the day somehow. Instead I shouted a “Look out!” to my brother, a “Get out of the way!” to the neighbours and felt my skin add an extra layer to the concrete as the driveway claimed its third victim in as many minutes.

The moment when you stack it on a bike, all time slows down. Its an out of body experience. You feel as if you can step in and save yourself or at the very least, point out a safe place to land. It also makes the inevitable take a whole lot longer to happen and seeing your brother come flying towards you is a moment you wish could be over in an instant.

He dodged me. His rear wheel passing my head by inches as he launched into the air. Our lack of research had failed to notice the pile of dirt at the end of the driveway that a kid’s mind defines only as a jump. And jump he did, past the neighbours, the bikes, the blood coagulating on the ground. That’s my brother, the athletic, talented one. Our collective awe was short lived as we heard him land in a ditch on the other side, probably created by said jump.

Fingers were pointed, blame laid anywhere it could but at the end of the day it was four kids who took on the Asphalt Gods of Sunday Arvo and won. They took our skin as an offering and to this day there still a faint stain on the concrete where our collective blood pooled as a warning to the other neighbourhood kids. But we were unstoppable and a couple of weekends later we were back again. Not for the driveway, no. We knew better than that now. This time we were armed with a speedo and we were going to take on the entire hill.