When we were kids riding our rusty mustangs with the banana seats all around the neighbourhood we would sometimes get bored so we would build ourself a ramp and make like we were Evel Kneivel. I grew up on a steep hill which was handy for reaching motorcycle-like speeds on a one gear bicycle.
Of course the whole point of jumping your bike on a ramp was to see just how far you could go. We would play with the angle of the ramp and set it so we could fly like Evel on the TV. Too little ramp was for girls, too much ramp was too much ramp.
One time we were doing our jumps when the two Zackey boys rode up the hill on their shiny mustangs. The Zackeys were a couple of jocko homos who went to the same church my family did. They had a few ugly older sisters with big tits. Huge tits like their big titty mom. Anyhow, the Zackey boys rode up the hill real slow. Their crew cuts shone like helmets in the summer sun.
"Is that only how far you can jump?"
"A fag could jump a bike that far!"
The Zackeys were retarded like most of the people in my church.
"Lemme see that ramp," said the oldest of the Zackey boys. My sisters and some of the other girls on the street thought the two brothers were hot like Bobby Sherman so they sat on the edge of the grass by the curb to watch them make fools of us and our mustang jump records. The ramp was set at about a sixty degree angle.
Me and the guys from our street and Jimi and Pig Leg from near the bridge whispered to one another about the Zackeys not knowing much about jumping mustangs over ramps at Evel speed.
Up the hill the oldest Zackey went and then he turned and used his admittedly much more athletic build to get his bike really rolling. He hit the ramp. He went more or less straight up. He landed on the back of his skull. The sound of his skull cracking on the asphalt was one of the coolest sounds any of us had ever heard. Blood poured from the back of his head and rolled down the hill attracting the attention of flies. He did not move. Then he did. That was the last time those motherfuckers tried out-Evelling us on our mustangs.
One day the Hells Angels would recognize us. For sure.