Where passion begins- memories

I think one of the great joys of life is to be passionate about something, or even better, many things. We see it in musicians, sports people, educators, politicians. We see it in their eyes, the way they animate as they speak about their subject. It brings us to life. For me, I am passionate about a few things, cycling being one of them.

One of my first bikes was a Riccardo BMX. It was my pride and joy, which led me to be the cross town champion for 2 years running. Let me explain. In the small country town we lived in, the road formation was a simple grid pattern, with main ‘sealed’ roads at the front of houses and then gravel roads at the back. The cross town championship was raced on one of the back gravel roads, from the north side of town to the south. It was basically a race of skill, endurance and stupidity.

The skill involved avoiding or jumping over the numerous pot holes along the route, the endurance was the length of the race, about a km, which for a 10 year old on a rusty BMX is a long way. The stupidity involved the idea that to be successful, the idea of slowing down, let alone stopping at the 5 intersections with main roads was not a tactic incorporated by any of the ‘top contenders’. So it was a case of head down, pedal like mad and hope that Mrs Jones wasn’t on her way to the butcher in her Valiant as you flew across Wheatley Street, or worst still, Mr Obrien wasn’t bringing in his truck load of grain just as you flew out from between the houses over the main road. There was a bit of a myth that a few years previous, this had actually happened and the boy in the lead actually went under Obrien’s truck and kept going without a single scratch.

Ah, a boy growing up in the country, is there anything better?