Being on the sidelines was something I truly hated as a child. I was probably the best athlete in the area where I grew up, and excelled at many different sports. The last thing I had time for was learning to ride a bike. I was either on the ball field practicing my craft, or studying game action to get some pointers on how to improve. This explains why then that I did not learn to ride a bike till I was 10 years old! I finally had gotten tired of watching my friends mount up and ride to the 7-11 to get a slurpee, while I stayed behind and waited for them to come back. So one morning I asked dad to take me out and teach me.
He put a bike in the back of the car, and we headed off to an abandoned parking lot near my home. You see, I was not going to damage my reputation by having people see me constantly falling over, scraping my knees, and things of that nature. No sir, I was just going to spend an hour or so learning how to drive this thing, then I would appear back in the neighborhood and presto, I would be a big time rider like the rest of my crowd. Dad asked me if I wanted him to install the training wheels and I replied "What! I am not a baby dad!" I mounted the little red bike and began my assault on this new skill I was trying to acquire. Sure, I fell a couple of times right out of the gate, but as I kept getting back up, I felt my confidence growing. I kind of looked at it the same way as I did my hockey skates. It was all a matter of balance.
After about a half hour of trial and error, I finally had the hang of it. I was riding fast, riding slow, and even doing zigzags and circles. I was now a very confident individual on my little red rocket, ready to face the daunting task of accompanying my mates on the ride to 7-11. I too now would be drinking that wonderful slurpee on those hot summer days. After my last jaunt around the parking lot, I announced to dad that I was good to go, so he packed the bike back up and drove us back home. My plan was to debut my newfound skill the next day.
As morning rose the very next day, I was excited to show my friends that I could do what they do. It was around noontime that the first of them started to appear, and slowly everyone and their bikes arrived on the scene. I ran to the backyard and got on my bike. I quickly rocketed through the yard, and made my way up the street. As I approached the fellas cheers arose. They whooped and yelled, "Hey look, he is finally joining the riding crowd". I could not have been smiling any wider. Nothing would be able to bring down my mood on this day. Well, almost nothing.
There was one other obstacle that I had forgotten. The ramp! Yes, on the way to the 7-11, one had no choice but to ascend a small ramp on their bike, and make this small jump on to the waiting dirt road. Small is what it seems like now, thinking back on it, but at that time, that ramp was a long and as high as any that Evil Knievel had used to make one of his famous jumps. A moment of truth had arrived. Do I turn tail and head back home, or do I go for it and make the jump and head off for the cold slurpee? After thinking about it for a short time, and watching the other guys make the jump, I said it couldn't be that hard. I started to ride my bike in a circle, and then backed up to gain speed. I took off for the ramp, pedaling as hard as my little legs would take me. As I grew ever closer to the ramp, I told myself that this would be a piece of cake. Faster and faster I went. I finally reached the ramp and hit it at full speed, flying through the air.
Unfortunately, maybe a bit too much air. As I went up in the air, I had so much speed that my momentum carried me forward on the bike. The bike came down on the front wheel, and propelled me face first towards the awaiting gravel and dirt floor. In a split second judgment, and more because I wanted to save my face, I stuck out my left arm to brace the fall. I came down and immediately popped up in intense pain. I had broken my left arm, the arm that I pitched with. I was horrified. I spent a few hours in the hospital, getting my arm set and put in a cast. I missed that entire baseball season because I wanted to be cool like everyone else. Yes, learning to ride a bike is one experience I will always remember!