Taking A Spill

I'm amazed that I haven't blogged more often lately, given that I'm doing just short of, oh, I don't know, NOTHING at work right now. Granted, I can't complain, b/c I am a total of 12 days or so away from being done with the company forever. Nothing to be mad about there.

So I was relaxing on my front porch the other day (because somehow, it's nice and cool outside, and a total f'ing sauna in my house) and I saw some kid learning how to ride his bike in the parking lot of the church across from my house. And I started thinking why don't I have any memories of my dad teaching me how to ride?

Then I remembered:

I got my first "big kid" bike when I was 5. Of course, it was black, with the foot brakes, the kickstand, and the requisite training wheels. The training wheels didn't last too long. (Surprise, I was impatient as a child too!!) Now, my birthday is in March, which in Erie means "the dead of fucking winter). So I didn't get a lot of practice in right away. By May, I was ready to ride outside though, sans training wheels. So on a relatively chilly afternoon, after a nice spring rain storm, my father takes me out with the intention of "learning to master this here bi-cycle".

There were two inherent problems here. One, we lived on a tar-and-chip road, which is a fancy form of well pressed gravel, with sharper rocks. Two, in front of all of the houses on both sides of the streets, there were open run-off ditches that filled (and occassionally overflowed) with rainwater. Oh, and I still hadn't ridden on my own, without the trainers. This sounds like a recipe for a concusion, doesn't it?

So we start out the old fashioned way, nice and slow, the old man holding onto the back of the seat, walking/jogging behind the bike, going only a quarter of the way up the street, letting me get a "feel" for it. Apparently, I thought I was doing well, b/c I said "Let's go all the way up the street and back"

Well, we made it up, again going relatively slow. I must have thought I was actually good at riding my bike at this point. Because after he helped me turn around, I hammered it.

To his credit, the old man kept up for a good 75 yards or so as I remember it. Then, well, physics took over, and I outran him. Unfortunately, I didn't know it. So I'm cruising, pumping away as fast as I can, when I realize that I'm getting close to our house on the corner. Dilema

I have to somehow stop, or get into the driveway quick, b/c our quiet, suburban street intersected with a relatively busy one. Not the place for a clueless kid on a bike. Without a helmet. Herein lies the problem though. I hadn't so much mastered slowing down and turning or braking. Whoops. So, I tried to turn it hard, while trying to brake, and maneuver into the driveway. Yeah, not so much. Instead, I ended up going flying off the bike, towards the yard.

Remember those run-off ditches I mentioned? Oh, they were full. And, I hit one, hard. Actually the water kind of broke my fall, you know, kind of. Oh, and the bike then bounced of the mailbox and landed on me. Awesome.


****Other note, I know Sarah already mentioned this, but Sunday we helped Drew and Diane move into their new, very cool house. For me, there were two highlights:

1) In the moving truck, Drew, Matt and I had a kareoke moment to Hootie and the Blowfish's "Hold My Hand"

2) Diane had an old wardrobe thingy that she was going to throw out, so she let the boys take the hammers to it. So. Much. Fun.

And I'm a dork.