Social media has made it possible for point-six billion people to share every Starbucks moment, taco combo and high-school heyday with their friends, many of whom they either haven't met, or haven't seen in 25 years.
I'm as guilty of the former vanity as anyone ("Look—the cereal in my spoon spells N-A-R-C-I-S-S-I-S-T!"), but so far the urge to skip down memory lane with my '70s BMX friends and the freestyle bro's who came after them hasn't moved me.
It's not because I don't think David Clinton was rad. My old friend's cross-up on the Kawasaki is one of my favorite BMX photos of all time.
It certainly isn't because I don't cherish my days behind the gate and the steering wheel with my friend Greg Esser on the '79 NBL War of The Stars. Bryan's brother dominated the East Coast race scene that year, and both Esser boys were my summer tour co-pilots and best friends.
I still hear from Ceppie Maes from time to time, and the trick shows we did in the mid-'80s with his CW teammate Dizz Hicks and my young prodigy Gary Pollack remain a touchpoint in the annals of freestyle lore.
No, my disinterest in BMX nostalgia is based on one simple truth:
I never left the scene.
When my high-school friends were souping up muscle cars, I was assembling Schwinn Le Tours at Princeton Cycles in Lake Worth, Florida, to pay for entry fees and gas.
When BMX sidehack-racing legend Dennis Dain was delivering boxes in a UPS truck, I was unloading those same parcels in CW's warehouse.
When Scott Breithaupt was fighting addiction, I was fighting for thicker dropouts on Mongoose Hooligans.
While BMXers I knew or admired have moved on to build race cars, lay carpet, make movies, train cage fighters and bake pizzas, I have continued to design bike parts, shoot ads, build websites and write catalogs for 36 years.
A psychologist could argue that doing the same shit every day for four decades is the clinical definition of insanity.
From my current seat in the BMX foxhole, people who live in the past are the ones who seem crazy.
1 comment:
You da man McGoo. Much respect.
Here's another one that never left the scene. It's an addiction but one that doesn't need rehab clinics to steer you in a different direction.
Keep on rocking.
Your friend.
Bart
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