I was just about to post a joke singles thread about a bud who wanted to know if he could come out on his "hot wheels".
(I said he'd have to ask about riding 2up with a nice lady... then thought, if he doesn't have a bike, the nice-lady from here may not want to associate w/ him.) LOL...

Anyway, found this and Figured that Gianfranco would do well to get a bike and re-live his nostalga! (Pfft.... read about the jeep w/ bad shocks... riders still know that feeling)

Directly Quoted from: Gianfranco Origliato (www.about.com)

Back in the early '70s, when I was but a wee tot, my favorite toy was my Big Wheel. Like all Big Wheels back then, it wasn't flashy. There were no flourescent green wheels, no racing stripes, no sirens or bells or horns or whistles. But what there was, was great.
The Red and Yellow Machine and I continually challenged the steep descent that was the family driveway. Roaring down, my hands gripped tight 'round the hollow plastic hand grips, I felt every pebble as the hard plastic wheels met them. Car manufactures have recently built entire ad campaigns focusing on the driver's ability to "feel" the road below him. I tell you, I've never been in a car that can match a Big Wheel on that count. A Jeep with lousy shocks may come closest, but it's still a far way off.

So there I'd be, nearing the sidewalk, one hand gripping the handle, the other alongside my body, gripping the hand-brake. The rumbling caused by those pebbles, the cracks in the asphalt, the gullies and valleys and gorges that ants must negotiate, teaching my little body the meaning of the word earthquake, causing a shaking and a vibe that Elvis would envy. So there I'd be, roaring toward the sidewalk, my right hand poised to pull at the brake, my left ready to turn. So there I'd be, bearing down on the spot where asphalt meets concrete, where the ants travel their personal San Andreas Fault. So there I'd be for the thousandth time.

And like some juvenile Steve McQueen I'd close in on that San Francisco intersection; you know, the one that happens to be in Newark, NJ, and I'd turn the wheel hard and I'd slam on the brakes, screech into a controlled spin, lift off the brakes and slam down on the gas. Bam! The perfect ninety degree turn.

On a dime.



Once in a while it'd turn into the zero degree roll-over. But that was all part of the fun.