When I was a kid, every July 4th there was a big parade in our neighborhood. All the adults would team up by block and compete for who could build the best-looking float. And the kids would have their own competition by decorating their bikes with red, white, and blue crepe streamers and pinwheels. And lots and lots of American flags. I went all out on this decorating business, which is strange when I think about it now. I don't normally get too in to decorating or dressing up for holiday functions, like Halloween costume parties. But man oh man, the first year in that parade, I made my Incredible Hulk 'Big Wheel' the most patriotic looking Big Wheel the Norchester subdivision had ever seen. And I actually won a prize: a frisbee. I was proud as hell. I wish I had the pic of me sitting on that decked-out Big Wheel, frisbee in hand, huge smile on my face. But it's no doubt living in a shoebox or photo album somewhere in Texas.

One thing I realized that first year was that the other kids were giving up their Big Wheels in favor of sporty new bicycles with training wheels on them. I still thought my Big Wheel was pretty dang cool. So I wasn't really self-conscious or anything about cruising around the hood in that low rider while the other kids towered above me on their bikes. But I do remember being a bit frustrated that I couldn't go as fast as they could.

The next year, I had a bike. And like the previous year, I dressed it to the nines for the big day on the 4th. I'm not sure if I won a prize or not that year. But I do recall that my bike had training wheels. By then, of course, most of the kids had lost their extra bike appendages and were doing a strictly two-wheel thing. But I was always a bit slow in giving up any safety apparatus. Simply put, arm floaties were for swimming. And training wheels were for biking. These things were as plainly evident to me as 'the sky is blue' and my personal favorite fact, which I learned around age three or four, that men go pee standing up, while women go pee sitting down. I was endlessly fascinated by that knowledge and waxed poetic on the subject to anybody who would listen.

I was never really embarrassed about using my training wheels or riding my Big Wheel. I was remarkably unselfconscious about all that back then. I guess we all start out that way. I think it was my dad who finally realized he should probably help his son lose those wheels and join the ranks of the other kids. He was always the voice of reason. With him, wearing my cowboy boots to bed was not an option, and there was no way I could continue riding my bike with training wheels. If it were up to my mom, I might still be wearing my boots to bed, and peddling around Baltimore on a tricycle. I don't know how old I was when those wheels came off for good, but my guess would be five or six. I remember my dad running beside me as I shakily steered my way down our street, thoroughly freaked out.

Holy shit, that was invigorating. And altogether scary. And fun.

The next Fourth of July, I was no-doubt riding my bike in and out of the parade crowd with my best friend, Paul. And that year, I probably still decorated my bike, but not with the flourish of past years. Not because I was too old or too cool or anything like that. If anything, I cut back on the decorations because they got in the way of me doing my wheelies, skids, jumps, and other tricks. It's hard to be a hot-rod with crepe paper stuck in your spokes.

This weekend, I bought a bike. It's the first bike I've had in over ten years. And as I test drove it around the parking lot at REI on Saturday, I felt a little bit of that exhilaration rush through me again. For a moment, I was six years old, wind against my face, a little shaky, but a lot powerful. It was tremendous.

Now I wonder if there's a bike parade somewhere I can join. I'd be the tallest little kid there.

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