I had a department store ten speed. Hand breaks on the handlebars and a gear shift between them, a knockoff of the classic Schwinn. In the summer of 1973, I would leave the house on it around 10 AM and ride the 2 miles to town. I would roam around, play pinball at Jack's, flirt with mischief, then line up with the other paper boys to roll and throw my route. 84 papers on the good side of town. I was lucky to have that.
One day, riding home in the evening, I pedaled to top speed just for fun. Flying down Patmos Road, I came to my turn. I reached for the break. As I squeezed, the break came loose from the handlebar. It fell and lodged in the metal spokes, the cable quickly wrapping around the forks. The bike instantly stopped, or least the front half did. I flew over the handlebars, or at least my top half did. My legs hit the handlebars. The gear shift skewered my nuts. My right shoulder hit the pavement. I slid on it a ways then rolled over. The back half of the bike landed on my nuts.
I crawled to the ditch and began breathing again. I sat in disbelief. What just happened and how? How am going to get the bike home? How am I going to walk the last 50 yards with a grated shoulder and skewered nuts? Bill, the neighbor kid, came out and helped me. He was my age. We had a difficult relationship. He could be a real prick, start picking at me, and we'd fight. That day, he was nice, my friend. It was the bike that beat the shit out of me.
One day, riding home in the evening, I pedaled to top speed just for fun. Flying down Patmos Road, I came to my turn. I reached for the break. As I squeezed, the break came loose from the handlebar. It fell and lodged in the metal spokes, the cable quickly wrapping around the forks. The bike instantly stopped, or least the front half did. I flew over the handlebars, or at least my top half did. My legs hit the handlebars. The gear shift skewered my nuts. My right shoulder hit the pavement. I slid on it a ways then rolled over. The back half of the bike landed on my nuts.
I crawled to the ditch and began breathing again. I sat in disbelief. What just happened and how? How am going to get the bike home? How am I going to walk the last 50 yards with a grated shoulder and skewered nuts? Bill, the neighbor kid, came out and helped me. He was my age. We had a difficult relationship. He could be a real prick, start picking at me, and we'd fight. That day, he was nice, my friend. It was the bike that beat the shit out of me.
