The Big Wheel Generation

I think I was born in the last few days of the "Baby Boom." So technically, I am a "boomer."
But in reality, I am a part of much more crystalline definition, a smaller, more interesting and exciting band of group dynamic: "The Big Wheel Generation."
We can blame it all on the Big Wheel.
We were the first "gen" to capitalize on that new found (herein officially named only on TTG) "Turnpike Directive," courtesy of Pres/General D.D. Eisenhower.
Think of all the millions of tons of concrete and asphalt America poured across our acreage. It wasn't all just roads, you know. Some it was sidewalks; Micro roads, made for cool Schwinn Sting Rays, roller skates, lemonade stands, chalk markings for lane restrictions and yes, the grandfather of all great late model stunt drivers: The Big Wheel.
All those new sidewalks of the 50s, 60s and 70s were just waiting for our extreme, pre-"X-game" brand of plastic-wheeled stunt expression: "The Big Wheel 360."
The machine was born in 1969 in America by the Louis Marx and Company, and became such a hasty hit in the early 70s that every boy HAD to have one. Period. But the low-slung, big front wheel trike was one of the most ruthlessly stolen designs of its time, so much so the Marx company pretty well gave up and sold the brand name and design to their chief competitor, Empire Plastics.
The Big Wheel was hailed as a safer pastime than biking, which of course will eventually kill you.
It was hard to get hurt on a Big Wheel, unless you crashed several of them together - which we did. Or ran into street signs. Which we also did. Or ran them into anything that was stationery, solid and sold newspapers. Again, we did it.
But the freedom. Big Wheels allowed you access to parts of your neighborhood you had to - gasp - WALK TO.
Or bike and die.
They had a crudely adjustable seat, so you could both grow and keep your toy - which, come to think of it, was probably their downfall: You didn't ever really outgrow them.
But we wore all of ours out in my neighborhood.
The Big Wheel had it all: Cool sounds, leopard-like agility and a chopper-esque profile that still stands as one of the coolest toy designs ever. It also had a fake pod of gauges on the yoke, meant to make us believe we were really cooking with gas.
Yes, the staccato clatter of the machine on concrete was immediately recognized. (It was probably the lack of bearings and the friction of the less-than-round plastic wheels across the sidewalk expansion strips that made it sound so ominous.)
Sure, you could motor pretty fast, and it was also fun to do a quick little burn out as you shot away to a new, unknown and critical adventure.
But the best part was the brake.
With a simple tug on the right side lever, the whole machine would go careening sideways, spinning madly like Mannix's Cougar on gravel, the Kansas farm house in an Oz tornado or Dotty Hamill's oh-so-waifish haircut.
It was pure, G-force joy, probably not unlike the early astronauts or test drivers experienced.
The Big Wheel Spin was so addictive, every kid's machine in my neighborhood had "flat spots' on the back wheels.
So what? It just made the ride a little bumpier.
The freedom, the spins and the low rider effect turned us into a nation of speed freaks and G-force junkies.
Not all "Extreme Sports" were born from surfing or skateboarding - no, baby, for a lot of us, it was the Big Wheel.
Sadly, the machines went out of favor in the late 90s, and are hard to find these days. There was even a few years where NOBODY MADE THEM!
Alas, the Big Wheel was re-born in 2003, and now has races, clubs, web sites and new fans all over.
There is nothing like that child-like rush of first riding a bike on your own, or eating your favorite food for the first time, or sleeping over and not being "ascared." But few memories can match that first 180-donut in a Big Wheel.
Hmm, now if they only had sidewalks in my neighborhood...

(Image credit to artist Jennifer Mazur)