the Green Machine

I watched the Superbowl with some friends tonight and was mesmerized by a Toyota ad with a big wheel race. We all cheered the majesty of the big wheel, and shared a few memories of the legendary Green Machine in between the plays that followed.
Now as I'm settling into bed, my brain is still reeling with memories of the wonderful transportation of my youth.

The race to hop on the "good" one.
The sound of the plastic wheel, rubbing against the blacktop as I began to pedal. Then learning the right strength in which to take-off so as not to spin my wheel, but actually cover some ground.
The rattles the wheels made as we rolled along.
Taking out the adjustable seat-back so we could try to ride two to a vehicle.
Getting the hose, etc. out for the car/big wheel wash.
Learning how to skid-out, or was it spin-out?
Scraping my heels on the ground, more than once, when trying to pedal bare-foot.
Hitting my knees on the handle-bars when I was out-growing my ride, or maybe just turning abruptly.
Pulling things with a rope.
Flying down Cavendish.
Riding the tiny brick path from the driveway to the backyard patio. Over and over again.
Learning (the hard way) that when you attach a wagon with a rope and stop quickly, or travel downhill, the wagon will slam into the back of you.
Rolling down the ditch and pedaling up the other side (into the street, of course).
Always having someone to ride with.
The freedom.