I Race Kids Bikes

Along time ago in a land far,far away, I was a little kid. The debate rages on as to whether or not I ever actually grew up, but it is safe to say that now, at the age of 46, I have some level of higher understanding. When I was young, I thought like a kid. Now that I am much older, I still think like a kid, but in the body of a middle aged baby-boomer.

As a kid, I rode my bike as much as possible. I can recall the first day I learned to ride it at the Faulkner's house near my old school in Shawnee, Oklahoma. I finally got the hang of riding and man, what a feeling! The wind blowing in my hair, bugs in my teeth, and the open road in front of me. Living directly across from the Faulkner's was my first grade class mate Debby Duncan. She was out playing in her yard that fateful day when I first learned to ride a two wheeler. I decided that my skill level had progressed enough to ride over to her house and show her my new skills. What I didn't realize is that I hadn't actually learned how to ride over a curb, a skill I would need to reach my destination just 50 feet away.

The dull thud of riding a bike over a curb doesn't sound like much unless you are 6 years old. Not only did I learn how to ride a bike on this day, but it was the first time I ever "racked" myself. You know, taking a shot to the produce section, punched in the little buddies, doin the real achy breaky dance. Racked. Whoever invented bicycles with the boys bike having the top tube and the girls bike not having a top tube got it all backwards. Just as I rode over the curb with my confidence fully in place, I slipped off the pedals hitting two balls with one mighty swing. By the time the pain had gone full circle through my lower extremities, I had rolled to a stop just 3 feet away from Debby. I couldn't speak. She said, "Hi Cash, You wanna Play House". I could only stare at her with tears coming from my eyes. I think I made a slight uttering sound, but nothing more than a meek utterance of desperation was available. I had never known such pain. To experience this in front of a girl that I sorta liked made the situation even worse. How do you tell your possible first girlfriend that you have sore thingys? It never worked out between us.

Somewhere between the age of 6 and 12, I got better riding a bicycle. To make a long story short, (is that still possible at this point?) I was one of the first people in the US to participate in the sport of BMX Racing. What I really wanted was a motorcycle, but my parents wouldn't budge. We simply couldn't afford it. My brother had two motorcycles as it turns out, but for me, my destiny would be much different. I had a bicycle. I made the best of it, and am so thankful that is how it turned out. I raced my bike all over the United States the following 7 years at the expense of Mongoose Bicycles, my sponsor. They gave me dozens of new bicycles, equipment, and treated me like a rock star. From time to time, I would find my picture or an interview with me in magazines. It was a pretty interesting way to live as a teenager.

Last year, I was voted into the American Bicycle Association Hall of Fame. Pretty cool stuff for a chubby old guy. Here is the funny part. I still race. I sponsor a team of kids and adults who race. I still love it to this day. And though it doesn't consume the same energy as it did when I was younger, I love it still. Perhaps more. Most people at 46 don't have a sport that they got to do as a child, and again as an adult.

When people find out I race bmx, they say, "Motorcycles?" Nope. Bikes. With pedals. "Oh, do you do those ramps and flips?" Nope. I race. Defined winners and losers. "So, you know Dave Mirra and Matt Hoffman?" Nope. "Are you on ESPN and the X Games?" Nope, not unless I pose with a John 3:16 poster and get a rainbow wig. (I believe the same way that guy does, I just don't love his method! ) So, I am a 46 year old business guy, I have an 8 year old daughter, and I race kids bikes. I love it. I love to win trophies, and hang out with my friends. Not many understand my sport, or me, but it fits me just right. Now that my clothes fit me just wrong, I am so glad that I never got that motorcycle. Destiny is a funny thing if you let it happen.

Thanks, Mom!