Faster than a speeding two wheeler.

Yet another next ten years.

Where we moved to in 1954 backed up against rolling hills.  Some as high as 800-feet.  Hills with old abandoned oil wells, a few roaming cows and horses, and a small ranch in a valley area where a rodeo performer and trick rider lived.  It would have been a great place to film old western movies.  However, most of the rolling land was owned by Standard Oil of California and was locked up late in the evening. 

However, a great place during the day time hours to ride bicycles.

One of our favorite things to do was to start out up on the highest of the main roads going out of the fenced off hills.  You would push off up at the top coast rapidly down, rumble across a cattle crossing, and quickly descend down what then was a narrow and steep two-lane road , passing a two way stop sign and level off going near a very busy boulevard and hope you can slow down and stop before arriving at that busy

intersection.  A stretch of about a mile and a half.

Once crossing the cattle crossing one would easily be going about 35 to 40-MPH.  All the while hoping and praying no car would be crossing at the stop sign.  Using our coaster brakes would be of no use.  At the stop sign you would be at maximum speed.  I’m surprised we never blew out a bike tire.  We did this little bike coasting trick dozens of times.  God only knows we could have been road-kill.  I’m almost certain our moms never knew what we were doing on our rickety old Schwinn single speed bikes.  Otherwise, we would have been home-kill.  I’m lucky to be alive today and telling you all about this goofy-kid daredevil trick.  But it was what pre-teen Okie boys did.  Goofy bike tricks.  Boy howdy!