"And all of a sudden...there it was."
(This goes out to all of you who have ever ran into a parked vehicle)
My Aunt Lisa used to live in an apartment complex in Plymouth. Next door to this complex was an old bank building which had been standing vacant for maybe five years. My cousin (Aunt Lisa's son) Jason and I used to play in the bank's old parking lot all the time - cops and robbers, running races, the whole deal. On one particular birthday, he got a new ten-speed, and passing me his mom's bike, we proceeded out to the lot where I hoped to prove that I could still kick his ass, despite the fact that I was riding what seemed like a 1937 Schwin.
It started out great. Maneuvering around under the window tellers' extension roof was a little tricky and there was plenty of broken glass to avoid. Otherwise, we ran a pretty decent race. At one point, he stopped completely and waited for me to come around again. "Look!" he said, "I'm one ahead of you already! Boy did YOU get slow!" So naturally I took this as a challenge and began pedalling my feet off. As he was going under the roof again, with me right behind him, I turned my head and shouted "I'M CATCHING UP!"
Rule number one when riding a bike in relatively unfamiliar riding territory: Never take your eyes off the road. Neglecting to continue turning as I looked at him, I plowed full speed into the back-end of a snot-yellow 80-somethin' Olds that had (unwisely) been deposited alongside the bank when it broke down and was never withdrawn. The bruises were as spectacular as the pain, but I think the thing that made me bawl the most was the fact that Jason was on the ground too.
The only difference? He was laughing his brains out.
(This goes out to all of you who have ever ran into a parked vehicle)
My Aunt Lisa used to live in an apartment complex in Plymouth. Next door to this complex was an old bank building which had been standing vacant for maybe five years. My cousin (Aunt Lisa's son) Jason and I used to play in the bank's old parking lot all the time - cops and robbers, running races, the whole deal. On one particular birthday, he got a new ten-speed, and passing me his mom's bike, we proceeded out to the lot where I hoped to prove that I could still kick his ass, despite the fact that I was riding what seemed like a 1937 Schwin.
It started out great. Maneuvering around under the window tellers' extension roof was a little tricky and there was plenty of broken glass to avoid. Otherwise, we ran a pretty decent race. At one point, he stopped completely and waited for me to come around again. "Look!" he said, "I'm one ahead of you already! Boy did YOU get slow!" So naturally I took this as a challenge and began pedalling my feet off. As he was going under the roof again, with me right behind him, I turned my head and shouted "I'M CATCHING UP!"
Rule number one when riding a bike in relatively unfamiliar riding territory: Never take your eyes off the road. Neglecting to continue turning as I looked at him, I plowed full speed into the back-end of a snot-yellow 80-somethin' Olds that had (unwisely) been deposited alongside the bank when it broke down and was never withdrawn. The bruises were as spectacular as the pain, but I think the thing that made me bawl the most was the fact that Jason was on the ground too.
The only difference? He was laughing his brains out.
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