Jason stared down the street at his older sister, he knew how this would end.

They both sat on their bicycles facing the other, feet planted on the ground, ready for the signal. Jason knew he would not yield, not to his older sister.

"Go!" shouted Joey, one of their friends, standing along the street between the siblings.Jason gripped the handlebars tightly and peddled with all his might. He had the advantage, the street sloped downward from his starting point. He would have roughly 200 feet to gain as much speed as possible. Speed was the best form of intimidation.

On the opposite end of the street, Jennifer picked up her feet and began peddling her pink Huffy bike furiously. Her brother was an upstart, a seven-year-old pest and tattletale. This was only going to affirm her place in the hierarchy of the siblings. She came first. She was better.Joey and Kathy waited with bated breath as the brother and sister closed the ground between them. There had been other matches that day, this was the most anticipated. There was no honor at stake in the other games of "chicken". But these two, winning this match was more important than anything.

"I bet Jason is going to win," Joey said, casting his lot with his similarly-aged friend. As the only boys in the tiny town, Joey and Jason spent tons of time together, they were the closest of allies. Kathy smirked at the statement.

"You wish," said Kathy, the oldest of the group of kids. Her money was on Jennifer, who at age 10 was the closest girl to her age in town. "Jason's just a little whimp," she added with all the sage wisdom of a girl who had just turned 12.

Jason leaned forward, hunching down on the bike to lower his resistance and pick up more speed. His sister was not veering from his path. The old asphalt and loose gravel crackled under their bike tires. Nothing else on the entire Earth seemed to be making a sound in those few seconds.

The spectators had positioned themselves at the point where the siblings' paths would intersect, mainly with the goal of judging who would chicken out first. One could swerve while playing chicken and still be declared the winner, if the other person did it first. Those were the rules among the children.

But for both Jennifer and Jason, there could be no swerving. The gap closed quickly. The time and space to avoid a collision quickly disappeared.

The front tires of the bicycles narrowly missed each other, the bikes made contact at the handlebars. A twisted hulk of metal, skinned and crying children, dust and gravel was all that was left of the decisive game. Yet it decided nothing. Another decade of jockeying for sibling supremacy would ensue.

Neither Joey nor Kathy went for help for their injured friends. Both stood in awe, looking at the scene. There was a bent pedal on Jason's bike, one that would remain that way for as long as he had it. The same would be true for the pink smear of paint where his handlebars mounted to the bike frame.

Among pieces of cracked reflectors, Jason and Jennifer both lay stricken, trying to overcome tears of pains with pangs of pride. Both could rightfully claim victory in their minds. Both looked to their peers for judgment. Surely one of them hesitated, flinched or gave some sign of having second thoughts.

Kathy shook her head.

"Neither of you moved," she said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the scene. Jason shot a look to Joey, hoping for a more biased opinion.

"Straight into each other," he proclaimed. "It was awesome!"

Clearly, it was not awesome. The brother and sister were wounded, their bikes damaged, their relationship unchanged.

"You'll have to go again," Joey explained. "It's the only way to settle it."

For once, Jason and Jennifer shared a rare moment in their childhood of complete agreement. There would be no rematch.

Author's Note: This incident may or may not have taken place sometime in the summer of 1983, long before the era of helicopter parenting or any semblance of safety gear for children.