While I'm on a roll

Another piece of nostalgia for the record.

My favorite thing when I was six-

Riding my bike. I would pedal the purple Schwinn as fast as I could, until my thighs burned. Then I would stand on the pedals and coast for as long as I could. The wind would turn my long hair into a flag that flapped behind me. I felt like I was flying. Then I would speed up and repeat. I would go anywhere. All around the neighborhood, and beyond. I could go to the school and play on the swings. I loved the swings. I could go to other neighborhoods and look at the big old houses and think of the people who lived inside. I imagined that they were rich. Or witches. Depending on the house.
The big brick Victorian below us on the hill was full of witches, I was convinced. Mainly because the house was in a glorious state of disrepair (since then remedied), and full of hippies. There were wrought iron crosses on the main chimneys near the tops. I once took out the binoculars so that I could see these crosses more clearly. This was after the house was featured in one of the more graphic and horrifying nightmares of my childhood. I have always been able to remember my dreams...
But back to the bike. It was the kind of freedom that I experienced when I started to drive. And still experience when I'm flooring it down the highway, with music as loud as I can tolerate. My hair isn't a flag in the wind, but the feeling is pretty much the same.