chopperoo

The greatest toy of my childhood? The Chopperoo.
I've never seen another, or talked to a single other person who remembers having one, and i guess that's a tiny piece of the legend.
The main body was thick molded yellow plastic. It was over four feet long, a foot wide in the middle, and low to the ground. It had solid plastic handlebars rising above the front rubber wheel. The pedals connected to a metal chain which went inside the main body, back to the axle that sustained the six-inch plastic rear wheels. There was a big black removable seat back, with peg-hooks which allowed you to move it up or back.
I was probably four when i got it. The one picture i have shows me at that age, sitting on it side-saddle on my driveway, towhead hair shining in the Buffalo summer sun.
It FLEW down the street. Never flipped, not ever. Around this time, the most popular kiddy rider was the Big Wheel. The Chopperoo dwarfed the Big Wheel, and the few that tried to race me soon saw nothing but rear wheels.
Most toys hit their peak of glory when they're brand new. Novelty and excitement and shininess begin a slow, imperceptible dimming on the day you crack open the box. The Chopperoo did not live the life of the average toy. Its peak of glory came two years later. In child years, an eternity.
When i was five, my family moved to Ohio. My new best friends were ty mcclain and amy culler, who lived in the houses across the street. After a year of watching me zip around Indian Hill Dr., their parental pleas for new roadsters came to fruition, and they each received for Christmas the latest model: the sleek, dangerous-looking Green Machine. It was nearly as long as the Chopperoo, with a back wheel assembly much wider. It was steered by independent right and left handles -very cool. All that winter, those shiny Green Machines sat in their garages. By this time, the Chopperoo was weathered. Amy and ty couldn't wait to release their new kings of the road, when spring's thaw set us free.
The day finally arrived. As i walked the Chopperoo out of the garage, i smiled. It didn't owe me a thing. I knew that i would be proud of it no matter what happened. Amy and ty had already zipped out their driveways, and were trying out the crazy angles their rear assemblies allowed.
We set up in the middle of the street, looked at each other, and somebody said "go". Within four seconds, the race was over. Within forty seconds, i reached the end of the street, and turned. They were several houses back. I did the first summer lap of the island at the end of the street, and zipped back to meet them. The Green Machine, for all its beauty, had no chain-drive. It never had a chance.
The Chopperoo held together as lesser vehicles came and went, came and went. It was another five years before the seat finally cracked, and the molded plastic began to freckle and pucker. I was riding a bike by then, so i allowed it to be laid to rest.
Is it possible to love an amalgamation of plastic, rubber, and metal? I've always looked a little askance at grown men who profess love for a car...
But put me back on the road, five years old, the wind zipping over me and the best machine in the world...