Bikes, Friendship, and the Unknown: The ‘Kids-on-Bikes’ Genre and 198X: Midnight Misfits

An iconic scene from E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)—Elliott’s bicycle soaring past the moon—helped cement the visual lexicon of what we now call the “kids-on-bikes” genre. These are stories of small-town kids who set out on adventures (often literally on bicycles), confronting mysteries and monsters with little help from the adult world. Born in the 1980s with films like E.T., The Goonies, and Stand By Me, the genre blends coming-of-age warmth with thrills, friendship, and supernatural tension. When I began working on 198X: Midnight Misfits, I wasn’t just paying homage to these stories—I was trying to distill their emotional essence into something you could play at the table. This essay is my attempt to trace the narrative roots of the genre and explain how Midnight Misfits fits into, and expands on, that tradition.

Origins and Hallmarks of the Genre

The genre’s golden age was the 1980s, with directors like Steven Spielberg and stories that foregrounded youthful freedom. E.T. (1982) is often credited with codifying the formula: kids with bikes, a supernatural mystery, and adults who just don’t get it. That movie set the tone—its warmth, its sense of awe, its insistence that children see truths adults overlook. Soon after came The Goonies (1985), a chaotic, treasure-hunting romp that exemplified how a gang of misfits could become heroic through sheer loyalty and nerve. And Stephen King’s It gave the genre a darker edge, introducing horror tropes and showing that the monsters we face growing up—both literal and symbolic—are all the more frightening when no one else believes us.

Rob Reiner’s Stand By Me (1986), based on King’s novella The Body, added another dimension: nostalgia. Told in flashback, it frames one formative childhood summer as a crucible that shapes adult identity. That bittersweet, elegiac tone stuck with me. Even as a kid watching it on VHS, I somehow knew this wasn’t just about then, it was about looking back. That feeling—of remembering something realer than real, even if it never quite happened—was something I hoped to recapture in Midnight Misfits.

In the 2010s, the genre saw a renaissance. Super 8 and Stranger Things brought it back into the mainstream, explicitly referencing the ‘80s canon while updating it with modern pacing and serialized storytelling. Stranger Things in particular nailed the mood: the D&D nerds, the government conspiracy, the bikes cutting through fog at dusk. And yet, rather than feel derivative, it felt like a rightful heir. That showed me the genre still had life—not as pastiche, but as a language players and viewers still felt in their bones.

Core Themes That Define the Genre

Friendship and Teamwork

Kids-on-bikes stories are always group stories. Not just narratively, but thematically: these are tales where the only way forward is together. Whether it’s the Losers’ Club in It or the Goonies shouting over each other in a cave, the message is the same—friendship is not optional; it’s what saves you. In Midnight Misfits, I wanted that principle to be mechanical, not just emotional. That’s why help from allies shares the risk. That’s why courage is contagious. That’s why every character, no matter their skills, is incomplete without the others.

Coming of Age and Transformation

There’s a reason these stories hit hardest between ages ten and thirteen. It’s the liminal zone between innocence and awareness—when kids begin to see the world as it really is, not just as it’s presented to them. The mysteries are metaphors, of course: the alien who wants to go home, the clown that feeds on fear, the body by the railroad tracks. I tried to build that transformation into Midnight Misfits, not as a plot arc, but as a texture. You begin the game playing as a misfit with a secret fear. If the game does its job, by the time the mystery ends, you’ve faced something bigger than yourself—and changed.

Fear, the Unknown, and Courage

Fear is everywhere in these stories: fear of the dark, fear of isolation, fear of growing up. But the best kids-on-bikes stories are never nihilistic. Fear is something you move through. That’s why I introduced the GUTS mechanic: not just to gamify bravery, but to underline the idea that courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s what happens when you push past it anyway. Characters in the game aren’t fearless; they’re afraid of deep water, loud noises, being forgotten. But when they stick together, they find ways forward. That’s the story I’ve always loved most.

Disconnection from Adults

This one’s baked into the genre, and it was something I embraced deliberately. Adults in these stories are often absent, distracted, or even antagonistic—not because I believe that’s always true in life, but because it creates space for kids to act. It gives them responsibility, even if they’re not ready. In Midnight Misfits, adults are predictable, but not helpful. Their routines can be tracked, avoided, outwitted. Their institutions—school, town hall, the police—are opaque or compromised. That gap between child and adult knowledge is where the genre lives. It’s also where the tension lives.

Building 198X: Midnight Misfits

When I set out to design Midnight Misfits, I wanted the game to feel like rediscovering a movie you only half-remember. I wanted a setting that evoked the right kinds of wonder and dread, where you could walk past the old lighthouse one day and suddenly notice the light is rotating the wrong way. Clearview, the town at the heart of the game, is an amalgam of coastal Americana, small-town paranoia, and decades of genre tropes. But it’s also meant to be personal. The town map is there to be changed. The secrets are yours to invent.

Mechanically, the game stays lightweight on purpose. It’s not about statblocks or simulations—it’s about atmosphere, memory, and rhythm. Character creation emphasizes archetypes: the Brainiac, the Scout, the Class Clown. But each kid also has a fear, a quirk, a hidden talent. You’re not building a superhero; you’re building someone who might get nervous climbing the old trestle bridge but still does it anyway.

One of the most fun parts of writing the second edition was expanding the game’s mystery toolkit. I wanted Midnight Misfits to be more than a one-shot generator. I wanted Clearview to live—to grow weirder, deeper, and more full of connections the more you played. That’s why I added seasonal events, random gossip, dynamic patrol routes, and secret passageways. Not just to add color, but to make the town feel like a real place where stories happen whether or not you’re watching.

And that brings me to the last point.

Why Misfits?

I didn’t call the game Midnight Heroes. I called it Midnight Misfits for a reason. Because every kid I remember from those movies, and from my own childhood, was a little weird. A little too curious. A little too off. These weren’t varsity athletes or student council leaders. They were the ones who stayed late at the library or built weird gadgets in the garage or believed you could hear messages in radio static. Those are the characters I want to play. And those are the ones the genre celebrates.

So in Midnight Misfits, being a misfit isn’t a limitation—it’s the whole point. It’s what lets you notice the wrong constellation in the sky, or hear a pattern in the lighthouse beam, or ask the question no adult will ask: why is everyone pretending everything is fine when it’s clearly not?

In Closing

From Elliott in E.T. to Mike and the gang in Stranger Things, kids-on-bikes stories have always been about finding your people, facing the impossible, and coming out the other side changed. I built 198X: Midnight Misfits to live in that tradition—but also to let others build on it. If you’ve ever wished you could go back to a world of foggy forests, dangerous basements, and late-night adventures with friends who’d never let you down, I hope this game gives you that window. And if you’re one of us—one of the misfits—I hope you pick up your flashlight, hop on your bike, and answer the call.

The night is waiting.