THE JOY OF WHEEL-ROLLING

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Back in the heyday of wheel-rolling, hours of juvenile wizardry often went into the construction of "special" paddles. My brother would toke an old shoe tongue, punch two holes along the cutoff edge, and pass the U of the paddle through the holes to make a racy mudflop. Others dandified their "handgrips" with squirrel tails that whipped in the wind, and a few determined artists tied chicken feathers along the length of the shaft . . . to create a bristling war-bonnet look.

THE ART OF WHEELIN'

It may take a while to judge how much paddle pressure is needed-and where it should be applied-to keep the circle rolling. The bottom end of the "control stick" should almost touch the ground as it propels the hoop along. (The back of the U pushes the wheel, and its "sides"-rubbed gently against the spinning rim-guide and broke it.)

We raced our wheels . . . nudged them through labyrinthian obstacle courses . . . and become so adept at manipulating them that we never had to touch the hoops with our hands. We would snag our rings with the end of our paddles, give 'em a flip, and start 'em whirling. Some of us were so cockily proficient that we could keep the hoop in motion-even when we stopped to talk-just by passing the paddle from one hand to the other and coaxing the wheel around our feet.

To our common disgust, o subspecies of our fraternity amused themselves by rolling old automobile tires. But these children were regarded as clumsy savages by "true" wheel-rollers, and we took only such notice of them as politeness and outright fear required.

THE OLD MASTERS

Plastic and pavement and prosperity may keep future generations of youngsters from swelling with the joy of taming a wheel . . . but a few of us old hoop masters still live.

Why, just last summer I drove some 200 miles to the hollow that had been my brightest path of glory. There-with no one to witness my graying antics or hear the rusty whrr-i-i-i-n-n-n-g-I experienced nirvana again!

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