Growing up as a chubby little gremlin in Michigan suburbia, there were two seasons: winter and BMX. With a hand-me-down heavyweight Murray and a pair of Huffy slip-ons, I raced in circles dreaming of the days I too could rock the slim team pants while speeding through dirt tracks and floating above the shopping malled masses at a local demo. Sadly, the most flying I did was over the handle bars. And no, I never actually got the dream Haro with an illustrious number plate. Luckily, there's still a few images floating around of the guys who did it right - the ones who flew with impeccable flare (and amazing color coding), giving new definition to a soaring style that defined so many of our radical summers.
