Growing up we moved around a lot. Making me the new guy, and there always seemed to be some kind of initiation you had to go thru as the new guy to see where you fit in. Many times you had to fight some of the guys or maybe some sort of dare. But one place the guys got really creative. I may have posted this before but I will chance repeating myself. The guys would asked you had you ever been to dead mans cliff. Well by god no but I would sure like to see it. Then it was on. Every one would get their bikes and head to the woods where you would get on a bone jarring goat trail and be told because you were the new guy to stay in the back and try and keep up. Off we go at break neck speed. Now the guys all new the trail and the best routes to take. You didn't, leaving you to hang on for dear life and pray you didn't destroy your bike. The trail was heavily wooded and with the guys all bunched up in front of you it made it very difficult to see anything. But that was the plan. Eventually the trail started going down hill steeper and steeper, faster and faster. Then in and instant everything opened up the guys peeled off left and right with you still plowing straight ahead. I knew something was wrong, slammed on the brakes and laid my purple Huffy down sliding to a rough stop. Standing up I was overlooking about a 15ft drop over a creek with a sand bar on the other side. Dead mans cliff. Looking back now at the very least had one gone over unprepared you were looking at some broken bones. But back then we called it fun.