The life and times of the Preston boys:

40 Prospect Street, Our home street in Lebanon new Hampshire A 45 degree steep downgrade. We lived about a quarter mile up on this ledge and rock infested, twisting black-tarred temptation and two boys feeling the need for speed. In the country it was, in a fine neighborhood where the Preston boys were the terror of the quiet peaceful and serene setting of middle class America.

Ringing doorbells and running like hell was my calling, Chuck on the other hand was a rock throwing genius and a dead shot with a rotten egg for sure. He had a reputation of busting the same window five times in a row in as many weeks. He was my hero. I remember the time he threw a rock at his innocent little brother, (that would be me). I was standing on our front porch just minding my own business you see. When the evil one threw a rock at me for no apparent reason at all. Unfortunately I was standing in front of a window where my fathers easy chair was. Dad was reading his newspaper at that moment. Here hurling through space came this perfect pitch launched by none other than Chuck the rocket scientist. Perfect arch, faster than a speeding bullet it came, I ducked and through the window it crashed. Glass shattered polluting the quiet restful evening. I thought to myself, OH SHIT!. Dad lurched back in his chair just as the rock sailed through his newspaper ripping it out of his hands and bouncing off the coffee table. I was was impressed to the maximum. So was Dad, and come to think of it Chuck the magnificent's ass was impressed too as Dad laid it on him.

 Life in the country is just exquisite I must say.

My Brother being kind and forgiving offered me a ride down the hill to the little store at the bottom of the hill. You see he had this English bike, which was his major mode of transportation during this time in our childhood. The bike was a real work of art. Lightweight, metal-flaked maroon, curled handlebars etc. It had the skinny seat and the caliper brakes with white wires leading to here there and everywhere on this English monstrosity and ill designed piece of shit. I stared at the white striped tires and to me they looked thinner than Snidely Whiplashes mustache. I wondered how in the hell they would hold up two people let alone one. I said SURE thanks for the offer. He said sit on the handlebars. I thought oh boy! a seat up front, wow! how lucky can a boy get and I climbed up and parked my bun's on those chrome plated, ram horn looking handlebars. Hang on chuck shouted and we were off.

I have yet to this day understood why he had to pedal going down hill. Hell our natural momentum would carry us to thirty miles an hour plus. Pedal he did as we hit warp speed zipping by the big rock. My how those tires could sing. Tears in my eyes and wind blowing through my hair, excited as all hell and wondering when my big brother was gonna hit the brakes. School Street was coming up fast and there was only a look of panic in chucks eyes as I caught his visage in the extra chrome plated round mirror located on the handlebar. I said Chuck do you think it might be a good idea to start hitting the brakes. He said calmly and I think with a little pleasure " I ain't got no brakes".

We went sailing across School street like a shot. I screamed "OH SHIT"! I swear Chuck was pedaling backwards, as if that would help. We zipped up on the funeral parlors lawn, which was directly at the bottom of the hill across the street from the little store. The bike stopped quite suddenly when contact was made on the wooden planked beautifully painted white porch. Over the rail I flew and tumbled into the wall. As I was skidding I collected various slivers of wood in parts of my body that would not have allowed me to drown, had I fallen into a raging river at that given moment. Chuck cleared the rail just a second after and he was a bit worse for wear.  His voice sounded like Alvin the chipmunk. I felt his pain, He he hee. ( Sorry). His voice did regain proper pitch and tone just before his graduation I believe. As for the piece of shit English bike it never regained consciousness.

Thanks Chuck for the ride. You @#*#+!.