Iron Boys Part 1: The Iron Boys of Northeast Pennsylvania

These cobalt blue skies of September, so typical of Colorado, are much rarer an occurrence in the northeast of Pennsylvania between Scranton and Carbondale. Still, they transport me back to the days of riding motocross bikes with the iron boys.

We, that piloted them, were the grandsons of Ellis Island immigrants who scraped their way to America aboard steaming, lurching ships to mine coal, build skyscrapers, and grow gardens and grapes for wine. We had the luxury of navigating those same mining roads, not on our way to work as our fathers had done, but in leisure—pure ecstasy, in fact—on two wheels (and even more often, one).

These were also the days that followed the burning of three of the ancient high schools built in order to speed the budgetary approval process required to build a new one. The result was a time/space conundrum that allowed us to live in nirvana.

More precisely, we got to enjoy three years of half-day school sessions from seventh to ninth grade. This meant we were only required to learn in confinement from 7:30 a.m. until noon or 1 p.m. until 5:30 p.m.

It was that first morning session that I met my buddy, Jeff. It changed my life.