The roar of the wind past my ears blocked out the sounds of the neighbour kids lining the road. They cheered of course - When amazing feats of human achievement and endurance unfold before one's eyes what else is there to do?
The world around me was a blur; It was like I was in a tunnel, a moving kaleidoscope of flashing colour, each indiscernible from the next. I knew I was doing Mach 2 by that point, and then I saw it...The point the road dipped downwards and away.
The PNR, point of no return, flashed underneath me, the line drawn with chalk on the bitumen gave me pause...But I pushed onwards knowing glory was only a few moments away.
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I was nine years old and had been out riding my pushbike with the neighbour kids. It was late March and still warm - The sort of day we'd gather in the morning and play all day except when we'd crash someone's house at lunch time and eat the parents out of house and home.
I was on my bike, one of the only new possessions I ever owned as a kid. We weren't poor, mum and dad just always had more pressing things to spend their money on though, like food and bills. New toys were few and far between...And so they were very cherished.
As kids do, we'd have races on our bikes and after a day of getting my butt kicked, because my bike wasn't as good as the other kids due to it being yellow, I decided a new game would be in order.
Speed trials down Bond Street
Bond Street started flat then headed straight downhill very steeply and came to a T-junction where it levelled out.
Steep doesn't really do it justice though; You know that mountain, what's it called...Umm, Mt Everest, yeah that's it...Bond Street made Mt Everest look like a speed hump. I'm serious...Although, I was nine, so maybe it was not quite that steep...It works for my story though so yeah, it was steep...And not a road anyone of sound mind would speed down...But I'm the G-dog y'all! No fear.
Back to the story.
I felt the front wheel dip and follow the down-slope of the road...I knew legend-status waited at the bottom of that hill. I was so confident of it, so very focused on the god-like status this feat of greatness would provide me with the neighbour kids, I didn't care that a car may be driving along the T-road at the bottom. I accelerated to Mach 3, little brown legs pumping at 2 million revolutions per second.
Wind roared louder, the acclamation of the lowly mere-mortals cheering me on faded and...
You know that moment when the realisation of what is happening hits and it's apparent all is not well? It struck home at that moment.
When doing Mach 3 on a push bike, a yellow 1970's dragster with one of those long, sparkly banana seats and a 3-speed gear shifter, one feels every bump and wobble...You'd only relate if you've done it of course...
Back to the story.
Wind roared louder, the acclamation of the lowly mere-mortals cheering me on faded and...The handle bars gave me a wobble; Not much mind, just a little shake, not much more than a vibration really. It's ok, glory awaits so push on G-dog, but a part of my brain wondered about that PNR line chalked into the road back up the hill and if it might have been better for my health to stop on it.
The vibration wobble became more pronounced and whilst I wasn't smart enough not to attempt this miraculous feat of human endurance, I was smart enough to know when my impending doom lay before me.
As a nine year old I had a different idea about impending doom than I do as an almost fifty one year old. What could possibly go wrong seemed to be more the order of the day and so I did some idiotic things.
Back to the story.
Impending doom soon became full-blown-doom. The wobble, to us dare-devils in the trade commonly known as speed wobble, had taken full control now and my arms were flailing about, hands still gripping the handle bars trying to regain control, but looking as if I was making an attempt to take flight. Oh, if only the universe would deliver me the sudden ability to fly...But no...I was speed-wobbling my way down Bond Street knowing that this was probably going put me into hospital.
You can probably tell this is not going to end well for me and you'd be right. There I was, little brown kid, legs off the peddles, free-wheeling free-wobbling down Bond Street at Mach 3 with the seat trying to hammer my little coconuts into oblivioin, totally and utterly out of control.
Back to the story.
It seemed like hours of free-wobbling but it was only seconds. The wheel turned fully one way and finally flight was granted to me...Thank you universe! I flew like an eagle into the wild blue yonder, the bike left behind to crash and burn. Although, what goes up must come down.
The impact felt much like I'd expect free-falling from an aircraft and hitting the ground would feel like. I landed on a shoulder first and it hurt. Don't worry though, that pain went away pretty quickly once my head hit the ground. Of course that pain felt like a butterfly kiss in comparison to the feeling of my shoulder, arm, leg and face grating itself almost down to the bone on the bitumen. Each new horror rendered the previous pain insignificant though. Thanks for small mercies.
The neighbour kids came running...They tried to anyway but they were laughing too much so they sort of stumbled along. I was groaning, trying to work out which part hurt the most, deciding it was all of me, and what that red puddle forming beneath me was.
To be fair to the neighbour kids they did try to help but suggestions like, I told you not to, and my favourite, I knew you couldn't do it, didn't seem like valuable assistance right about then...Blood puddle, grated skin, cuts and bruises and all.
Back to the story.
I slowly got up. No I wasn't crying. Dare-devils don't do that because we're tough.
I took stock of myself, looked at the blood gooshing out of just about every part of my body, luscious mocha-coloured skin now a red-raw bloody pulp and tried to catch my breath. That's when someone finally decided I needed some real help and I felt a hand on my back, heard the words, "are you ok?"
I turned, straightened nodding a little and when I had enough air in my lungs I said, "how's my bike."
My bike was totally messed up of course, not as bad as me, it was made of rubber and steel, but it was not ridable.
I was ok at that stage, concerned because I knew I wouldn't get a new one and my lovely bike would forever wear the scars of my attempt at glory but at that point I hadn't seen the worst of it.
You may think busting up a prized possession like my bike, virtually irreplaceable considering my parent's financial position was bad. Or injuring myself so badly (at that stage I didn't know just how badly off I was) that I had to go to hospital, would be the worst of it. But it was not.
The worst came as me and the kids were trying to straighten out my handlebars...I reached up to grab them and saw my watch...The first watch I ever owned and had only just received that week for my birthday. It was a Casio watch with one of those stretchy bands with no clasp so I was able to put on myself and all. I loved it. Treasured it.
The glass face was so scratched from being scraped along the bitumen that it was unreadable. The metal case was scraped too. It was ruined...And I started crying.
I've done some stupid things in life, as a kid and adult too. Growing up in a small, fairly sparsely-populated rural town in the 1970's we were left to ourselves a lot and, predictably, we found trouble; Mostly it was painful either in the deed, or in taking the punishment for the deed. But we were allowed to be kids and I loved it.
Looking back the speed-wobble may have saved my life. Had I reached that T-junction there would have been no way to stop and had a car come past I probably would have been killed. Not to mention the fact that on the other side of the T-junction road was a barbed wire fence. It was a stupid move...But imagine the glory I could have heaped upon myself had I made it work.
I managed to get the bike and myself home, limping all the way, crying and feeling pretty bad about my bike and my watch. Thoughts of my own injuries had faded, although the pain hadn't. I got fixed up by my mum but ended up at hospital a bit later...The head bump you see.
The good thing is my bike got fixed and a year later I got a new watch; The original was not saveable. All was well in the world, except my noggin; That's still damaged.
The bad thing, or maybe good thing, was that with scabs not yet gone I was out looking for more adventures, being a kid and hanging it all out there.
I've always had a tenacious streak, always gotten back up when knocked down, dusted off and said come at me bro. Quitting isn't in me, giving up isn't in me and not doing Mach 3 down Bond Street isn't in me. I conquered that fucking road weeks later and lived to tell the tale.
So...Don't tell me you haven't done dumb things like this. Comment below, fill me in on your crazy childhood. Tell me some stories.
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default - Tomorrow isn't promised so be humble and kind
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