When I was young (this was Loudonville, NY) we had a "bicycle gang". All of us had those big-ass Columbia bikes that had a pedal brake and playing cards held in the spokes with laundry pins.
We'd ride down this hill to where it T'ed into 2 other streets. In the middle was gravel. We'd hit that gravel as fast as we could go, hammer the brake and do slides and partial donuts in the gravel. Naturally most of us lost it sometimes and we'd go home with gravel imbedded in our hands, knees and elbows. No crying in "bicycle gang"!!
Go home, our Mothers would pick out the gravel with tweezers, slather "Red Fire" on it, and out the door we'd go to do the same shit again.
It was the best of times. Fucking kings of our Hood.