I grew up very nerdy, ugly and undateable, and never improved very much.

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We used to play in the street when I was young back  in the sixties and seventies. I hear it is making a comeback in the UK, though it has usually been a thing in Scandinavia, especially Denmark and the Netherlands. NYC which wants to be more European has a Play Streets program, and that is nice but when I was young playing in the street wasn't something that had to be scheduled.
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Hitchhiking used to be common in America. I hitchhiked all though my high school dayz in the 1970s. My parents gave me $5 a week to take the bus; and eat school lunches which were 40 cents a day. I rarely spent money on either one. I wasn't opposed to taking the bus, but I would hitchhike while waiting for the bus, and almost always got a ride before the bus arrived. In good weather, like half the time in Wisconsin, I also rode my bike. It was 2 and 1/2 miles to West High school, and I would try to ride the entire way no-handed, though I only made it all the way one time out of hundreds of attempts. Everyone would pick you up hitchhiking back in the day. Once I got a ride from the Principal of West High. It was fun to get rides in classic cars, I once got to ride in the rumble seat of a Model A Ford.  After school sometimes there would be up to 30 kids hitchhiking, but it would always take less than 20 minutes for everyone to get a ride. There was this rock band called Jo Jo Gunne ...
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I continued to go on long bike tours 2007-2012 throughout the West, and every year I spent some time in the Jemez mountains, and each year 20007-2009 I was stopped by the cops in reference to the "Cookie Bandit", though generally the cops were all "You're the guy who looks like the Cookie Bandit, aren't you?" I would say, "I'm not a criminal, I just look like one."  I would tell them some story I heard at the hot springs about Henry and I was kind of surprised they never were able to apprehend them, they certainly had no trouble finding me. The strangest incident was a few months after the shoot out when I was town-crashing Santa Fe, and suddenly I was surrounded on my bike by a new record of police cars: 5. I threw my arms way up in the air and yelled "I'm not the Cookie bandit, he's dead, you already got him." Apparently there was a burglary in the Artist Road neighborhood, so they weren't looking for the Cookie Bandit, ...
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