My Old Man was into surprises. He'd pull in the driveway and ask us to help him get something outta his truck. It would be a gocart or a scooter of some kind. No helmets, no knee pads, no elbow pads. We survived just fine, and had a riot doing it.
My Daddy built me a street racer. It was made with 2x4's, baby coach wheels, a wooden crate.
I steered it with reins (!) and my feet.
Now, before one of you starts thinkin' about
"Hoohah! No motor, eh? Kid's toy."
Roses are red, violets are blue. I've got five fingers, the middle one's for you.
Try this: This was in the Forties. A motor was not needed: Gravity was cheap, and far more dependable. Helmets were not even worn by fighter pilots. The runway for my street racer was dubbed, "Suicide Hill".
Lemme describe Suicide Hill. Model T drivers had to get a run going to get up the hill. TINS. BTW: Old cars -- even old by our kid standards
at the time -- were common at that time. Remember: No cars were manufactured during the war. I saw cars with wooden spokes.
Back to Suicide Hill: It took forever to pull the racer to the top (1/4 mile). But once there, I'd be eager to climb into the seat/crate, carefully raise one foot at a time to the steering bar, and sorta lean forward...
...And off I'd go. It was important to stay in one "lane" <-- Not a paved road. The "lanes" were where the left/right tires of all vehicles went.
Within five seconds, the wind would cause tears to stream back. The world became a shaking blur***
***A good way to picture it is to look at WWII strafing films, where they vibrate and blur.
I dunno what speed the racer got to... fast enough to get kilt, fer sure -- but it was livin' on the edge, no error!
My record was three turns. Most of the time it was one and done. Even at that tender age, I knew I wuz casting dice.