Wednesday, November 19, 1980, 8:04 a.m.
The blood red sun rose in the eastern horizon above the proud town of Hill Valley, California. The autumn sky blazed with sunshine above the small farming community. Its warmth dried the crisp, crackling leaves on the old sycamores shading the neighborhood streets of Lyon Estates, the home of the McFly's.
They were a family of five, a family not unusual, nor peculiar, merely an average family getting ready for the long, average day ahead.
"Martin McFly, you're going to be late for school!" Marty's mom shouted down the hall.
Twelve-year-old Marty McFly was, as usual, running late. As quickly as he could, he scampered out of bed and dressed himself. Dashing from room to room, he got ready in a fourth of the time it takes him if his alarm clock doesn't fail. As he passed through the kitchen, he said good morning to his mother and kissed her on the cheek. He greeted his dad with a 'morning pop', but George McFly did not budge from his TV show.
Their house was a typical ranch home in Lyon Estates, a housing development on the East Side of Hill Valley. They were a normal blue-collar family; George was a financial advisor and Lorraine was unemployed, a housewife in simple terms. He was a major pushover; she was an alcoholic.
They had three kids, 2 boys and one girl. David and Linda were in high school and Marty, the youngest, was in 7th grade. 19 year-old David was the oldest, but was 2 credits short of graduating with his class next spring. Linda was 2 years older than Marty and couldn't get a date if her life depended on it.
Marty had the dream of one day becoming a wealthy instrumentalist in a popular rock band. The only thing that stopped him was that he didn't have a guitar, or the experience. However, he did have a splendid singing voice for a twelve-year-old.
He was shorter than most kids his age and was often misrepresented as being younger than his twelve something years. Aside from being short, his main weaknesses were that he didn't take lightly to insults and name-calling. He also was never on time for anything.
Marty ran out the front door with his skateboard, backpack, and a half eaten pop tart. When he stepped outside, his smooth, rounded face twitched and his blue eyes squinted at the chill of the morning breeze. His light brown hair overlapped the top half of his ears and almost touched his shoulders in the back. His flannel shirt remained unbuttoned on the top and his jeans were relaxed at the heels.
"Hurry it up, will ya!" His friend, Ned Hoffman called out to him from a half a block up the street. He was taller than Marty and had short, blond hair. When he saw that Marty was racing toward him, he got up from the curb and began skating ahead on his own skateboard.
"Hey Ned, wait up!" Marty dropped his skateboard to the ground, and raced down Lyon Estates Road. Ned paced himself so Marty would catch up.
"Hurry up Marty!" Ned called back as his friend got closer. "What took you so long? I've been waitin' forever!"
"Chill out, I overslept." Marty remarked when he had caught up to Ned.
"Well, then you shouldn't stay up so late."
"You sound just like my mom!" Marty snickered.
"Kiss my grits. I do not."
"Just kiddin'."
"Hey, did you here about that gang fight at the arcade last night?"
"Nope, I was at Greg's."
"Man, you should have seen it. The cops were there and everything!" Ned explained. "You know Ricky Helmfield?"
"Yeah, he's an eighth grader, isn't he?"
"Right. I guess he and some dude from Grass Valley got into a fight over something. They started pushin' each other and finally the dude behind the counter told 'em to stop it or he'd call the cops."
"Cool. And he did?"
"Yep. After the Grass Valley guy gave Ricky a bloody nose, the clerk called the cops and made everyone else go home. Hey, did you and Greg figure out another song for the band to play?"
"Either Johnny B. Goode, Imagine or some Beatles song."
"I wanna play Johnny B. Goode, that's a cool song." Ned said. "But I kinda wish Greg had an electric guitar, and Mike's drums—."
"Greg's gonna find something for Mike to play on. He wants his own drum set, but his parents won't let him have one."
When they got to the intersection where Lyon Estates Road met Highway 5, Marty spotted something with delight.
"Check out that new pickup truck comin' this way!" Marty gazed at the shiny new 1981 Ranger F-150 with admiration. Its shiny coat of bright red paint gleamed in the sun. The truck's appearance gave Marty the impression that it had come straight off the dealer's lot that morning.
"Big deal," Ned retorted. "Let's see you tow behind it." Marty looked at him, shocked by the suggestion.
"I don't know Ned, that truck's coming awful fast, and if it doesn't slow down—." Marty said, thinking cautiously about the potential hazard. But he was fruitlessly talking himself out of a dare.
"It'll slow." Ned said with pure confidence. "Besides, you were boasting the other day to those high schoolers that you were gonna do it." Marty didn't say anything. He simply stared at the truck, mesmerized by the hypnotic effect it had on him, as it got closer and closer.
"I dare you to tow behind it." Ned leered. Those words plowed Marty down like a Mac truck, and Ned was driving it at full speed. And Ned knew it, for Marty never said no to a dare.
"You're not afraid, are you?" Ned teased.
"Of course not!" At that, Marty gave a heavy push on the asphalt and rushed past Ned. Marty looked back at him with an expressionless face; no fear.
"Hey Marty? You know, I was just kidding with you!" Ned shouted relentlessly, knowing it wouldn't help. It was too late; Marty was more concerned about the pickup going by. Ned was right; the vehicle was going about 15 or 20 miles per hour as it drove by.
He had always wanted to do this, so he sped up as the truck went by and grabbed a hold of the cab hatch. The driver didn't even notice! It looked so cool; he had seen it done so many times by the high schoolers. But he never had actually considered trying it himself, he had only been kidding.
Suddenly the truck decelerated and turned down a side street. Before he knew it, the truck was speeding up again and it wasn't going toward the school. Sure this was cool, but Marty didn't know how to get off without killing himself! Looking back, he saw Ned at the intersection, shaking his head in bewilderment. After all, Marty deserved it. But Marty didn't think so! Once again, he was going to be late for school. He looked at his watch; it was seventeen minutes after eight o'clock. Perfect! Another 8 minutes of recess and school would start. He loosened his sweaty grip and straightened his feet out on the base of the board.
He was about to let go.