I remember getting my first 3-speed at 12, and destroying the gears about twenty minutes after my dad let me ride around on it. My old single speed held up a lot better, and was pretty much indestructible.
I remember when kids on bikes belonged in the street or in the woods, not on the sidewalks. We were a hazard to everyone else, not the other way around.
I remember climbing to the top of my neighbor's elm tree and falling about thirty feet out of it because it couldn't hold my lousy 100 pounds up there. I also remember getting my hide tanned first by the neighbor, and then by my dad because I busted up his tree.
I remember playing tag with my brother with first lawn darts, and then dartboard darts. I still have a few of those scars.
Finally, I remember hopping into another neighbor's yard to play with his dog. The only problem was I didn't know the neighbor, or the dog, and the dog tore me up something fierce before I could get my dumb ass back over the fence and run home crying like a whipped baby. Just in time to meet my dad coming home and get my ass whipped, again, for being a knucklehead.
Crap, and I've still got six months to go until I die.