 Curbs. Most people never notice them until one of the wheels of their steel coffins rolls over or off of one--and still, if there's no damage, they fade away to nondescript grey matter. Not that they should hold special importance for anybody. But for me, they do.
Curbs, or a curb, was the first obstacle I ever conquered on my bicycle, way back when I was about.... I don't even know, except that my bicycle was greenish metallic, and had a stars and stripes banana seat (that curb was also the first obstacle to conquer me). That curb was only the first in a long line of angular concrete ramps and bumps that would forever change the way I view my surroundings.
 Just like everyone else, when traveling through a given city I try to take it all in--the stores, signs, other people, traffic lights, cars, etc. But there's a subconscious scanner that also surveys the turf. And the scanner internally beeps whenever the horizontal ground turns toward the sky. Sometimes it's just a blip--like a speed bump or slightly fractured section of sidewalk. Other times, it's like a car alarm; a smooth transition on the side of a loading dock, or super wide driveway book-ended by two steep curbs of just the right pitch, or a wall that leans back ever so slightly from vertical. But it all starts with the curb, flanking boulevards nationwide, intermittently opening into driveways, parking lots and ultimately other two-wheeled urban adventures.
In a different time, when my friends and I all rode twenty inch bikes (with one gear!) all over the city (and we liked it!) our video game pastime was "Excitebike," a pretty crude attempt at a virtual motocross game, where the player would travel horizontally across a two dimensional track, negotiating even more crude jumps that were really just very extreme triangles and oddly shaped polygons. The tracks we created would be impossible to negotiate were they real life structures (we thought!). Nowadays, the real life three dimensional jumps and obstacles make that game seem...well, like a game.
 Today, on my homeward commute, I found myself confronted with a long series of table topped driveways, and couldn't help but to be reminded of that game: the curbs ends were all very sharp angled, the space between each one long and flat, reflecting sunlight sharply so that I had to squint to focus. If negotiated just right, one can maneuver the field almost smoother and faster than if you avoided the entire lot altogether. A funny sight, I'm sure--some 38 year old cat on a 5 inch travel mtb, toying around on 8-12 tall curbs! But that's how we passed the time between destinations back then. Now that I commute everywhere on a bike, I deal the same way. My eyes still scan the immediate environ for the usual urban dangers: cars, pedestrians, other cyclists, buses, junkies in the alleys with baseball bats, etc. But my subconscious scanner is still plugging away, alerting me silently to each change from horizontal to vertical. And every once in a while, the ride home takes just a little longer than it should.
 Jerry Aaron Hazard recently landed not only a few more curb jumps, but also his first cover shot for Dirt Rag. He's also a Dirt Rag featured artist who takes pride in self-portrait mountain bike jumping photography. His personal website includes a blog, a personal image gallery and sales of his first print-on-demand book, Grit.
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