It was the ultimate showdown, my good-old American Schwinn bike against Gary's fancy-schmancy English racer.
You wouldn't think that a kid could get into too much trouble riding his bike up and down a dead end street.
On both sides of that Gless Avenue there were about a dozen two-family houses and not all of them had kids who rode their bikes in the street, on sidewalks that lifted near big trees, or up and down smooth and bumpy driveways.
In baseball season, we took the cards of players we didn’t know and used a few of mom’s clothespins to make our bikes sound like motorcycles.
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