All of the above. My Schwinn Stingray was the bomb.
Had a great Tree Fort too. Three stories with the lowest part fifteen feet off the ground. We built it out of whatever we could find. I can’t believe my Parents didn’t freak out when we got it done.
During the Summer, we had to be home by Dinner time. Up to that point my Parent’s had no idea where we were or what we were doing. It was the age of innocence, and it’s gone forever.
I had all those perks of ‘60s youth too. We’d run all over the neighborhood and only came home when it was dinnertime. Seems every Stingray had a baseball mitt slung over the handlebar just in case of a pickup game in one of the fields at the school across the street. Nobody wore helmets, knee pads or elbow pads. If you fell, you got your a** up off the ground, dusted off, then got back in your bike.
A long-past era...