WHEN I was 13 or 14, me and a couple of mates fashioned a race track for our pushbikes around an empty section on the corner of Avonside Drive and Sharlick Street. We even planted our own flagpole to dictate where the lap started and finished. As any physicist will tell you, the amount of grunting required to lift a flagpole increases as the thing rises. So by the time we’d got it close to vertical, we sounded like an Iowa hog farm.
While racing bikes
