When I was in the 6th grade, I got a bicycle for Christmas...a ten speed bicycle. Yeah that turned out to be a disaster.
It's not because I was uncoordinated. Please. I played golf...played football, arm-wrastled grown men and entered my self into dog fights. I wore a cobra snake for a neck tie...My parents used me for alligator bait and I washed my face in a frying pan...OK?
Let's face it, I was a bad a**! Still am. Deal with it Haters!
But...but, as those of you who know me personally can attest, I was, and have always been, wholly unequipped to deal with any kind of machine or gadget. In this case, a gear box for a ten speed bike.
After a couple of passes through the neighborhood, I figured out that high gears were good for going up hill..it was easier to pedal. Then I discovered that the low gears could be used to gain traction going down hill...meaning I could go faster than gravity.
Can y'all see where I'm going with this?
I came up with a plan to break the Truck Route up-hill land speed record. I'd start on the top of one hill using the low gears to pick up maximum down hill speed. Once I reached the bottom of the bowl I'd shift into high gear and pick up a blinding rpm for the up turn. All very logical...how could it fail?
It failed at about 55 miles an hour, as I flipped the gear switch to first. The failure was almost immediate and it was complete. The pedals, now spinning without resistance, picked up enough speed to bust an atom. My feet were flung off the bike and for a second it vibrated but continued to pick up speed...then there was a wobble and a flash and piercing, head caving, pain.
I don't remember anything between that moment and opening my eyes onto the ceiling of our back deck. I'd been moved there by my mother and the Sister...who was about five at the time. Santy Clause had brought her a plastic doctor's kit for Christmas. Thankfully she was able to fit me into her schedule.
She wasn't nearly as busy back then.
I had ripped the skin on my right knee down to the cap, left a hunk of my shoulder on the asphalt and knocked halfa front tooth out. I still have big nasty scars on my knee and shoulder. For thirty years, up until last week, my broken tooth had been capped. That was before I had the temerity to bite into a soggy spring roll last Wednesday night.
*The title actually has nothing to do with this post...it was intended for another. Sue me.
It's not because I was uncoordinated. Please. I played golf...played football, arm-wrastled grown men and entered my self into dog fights. I wore a cobra snake for a neck tie...My parents used me for alligator bait and I washed my face in a frying pan...OK?
Let's face it, I was a bad a**! Still am. Deal with it Haters!
But...but, as those of you who know me personally can attest, I was, and have always been, wholly unequipped to deal with any kind of machine or gadget. In this case, a gear box for a ten speed bike.
After a couple of passes through the neighborhood, I figured out that high gears were good for going up hill..it was easier to pedal. Then I discovered that the low gears could be used to gain traction going down hill...meaning I could go faster than gravity.
Can y'all see where I'm going with this?
I came up with a plan to break the Truck Route up-hill land speed record. I'd start on the top of one hill using the low gears to pick up maximum down hill speed. Once I reached the bottom of the bowl I'd shift into high gear and pick up a blinding rpm for the up turn. All very logical...how could it fail?
It failed at about 55 miles an hour, as I flipped the gear switch to first. The failure was almost immediate and it was complete. The pedals, now spinning without resistance, picked up enough speed to bust an atom. My feet were flung off the bike and for a second it vibrated but continued to pick up speed...then there was a wobble and a flash and piercing, head caving, pain.
I don't remember anything between that moment and opening my eyes onto the ceiling of our back deck. I'd been moved there by my mother and the Sister...who was about five at the time. Santy Clause had brought her a plastic doctor's kit for Christmas. Thankfully she was able to fit me into her schedule.
She wasn't nearly as busy back then.
I had ripped the skin on my right knee down to the cap, left a hunk of my shoulder on the asphalt and knocked halfa front tooth out. I still have big nasty scars on my knee and shoulder. For thirty years, up until last week, my broken tooth had been capped. That was before I had the temerity to bite into a soggy spring roll last Wednesday night.
Sexy? Like a mole on a super model maybe?
So, it's off to the dentist for me where I will get high as Cooter Brown on gas and listen to Roxy Music. They'll give me some hillbilly heroin on the way out the door.
Unless y'all think I should leave it.
Up Next...The Special Needs Relationship: Part Two, Can't Get Back There From Here
*The title actually has nothing to do with this post...it was intended for another. Sue me.
Ouch! That kind of experience scars not just your body but your wallet. Did the bike ever recover?
ReplyDeleteI think one of my friends...who I had left behind so they could get a good look at my dust...dragged it into the yard.
ReplyDeleteI far as I know it was fine...I was back on it that day. Right after they finished cleaning the asphalt out of my knee and gums.
That snaggle-gap tooth look is rocking e.f. Adds (even more) character... ;-)
ReplyDeleteYou reminded me of my brother's amazing adventure circa 1979. When he decided to use his brand new 10 speed racing bike to launch himself into space. He came down, skull first, onto the old covenanting stone on the hillside road. Wrote off his new bike too.
I remember his vomiting started about 2 hours later. Then the right side of his head and face swelled to the size of a super-sized watermelon. Ended up in hospital. Fractured skull and lots of blood clots in bad brain places.
I reckon he's never recovered. He tells me I'm a bad big sis...
(You really tell a good tale well)
More character...just what this frame of mine needs. One more scratch from the cat and I'll be Abe Vigoda.
DeleteThat sounds like a nasty dash there...serious.
Yeah...the Sister's always telling me what a drag I am. All I've ever been to her is a loving caring big brother.
Oh, SO funny e.f. I've been laughing about this all day (in the nicest possible way). I reckon you could do a good trade selling those maps - people all over the world will recognise those very places.
ReplyDeleteIf it makes you feel any better, some years ago I had to have a tooth extracted, one adjacent to my front teeth, top jaw. While I waited for it to heal and for a permanent false one to be made, I had to wear a temporary one on a plate, which meant taking it out every night. Boy, did I look good in the mornings...
(Not many people know that, and now I've gone and posted it all over the internet. Doh!)
And I meant to add - the partially toothless look does have a certain "je ne sais quoi" but I reckon you should go to the dentist all the same, even if only for the hillbilly heroin. (And good luck)
DeleteI'm glad you enjoyed it Snaggle.
DeleteI got a little carried away with the map. Maybe a revised version...with better color choices and more detail. After all, there were a lot of other places that did a lot cool things. :)
I love goin' to the dentist. I put them head phones on and I'm gone.
I used to love nitrous oxide but trying to use it while giving birth probably ruined it for me. Lucky man.
ReplyDeleteThe ladies love me there.
DeleteThey tell me I'm the best patient they've got...and then we laaaaaaaaugh. A cadaver would probably be more trouble than I am in that chair.
Nitrous oxide? Hillbilly heroin? Here in the UK, my dentist shoots you full of novocaine and that's your lot, so there is absolutely no upside to a visit. Health and Safety, I expect.
ReplyDeleteI lost an incisor four years ago, top left quadrant. Got in a fist-fight with a liberal. No, actually, I just ignored warning signs a little too long. There's a gaping hole there that's only visible when I laugh, so I try not to do that too much. I could get an implant, and they're expensive. I like to tell myself I'm just "keeping it real", but the real reason I haven't done anything about it is cowardice - simple fear of pain. So I am now a classic example of all those American jokes about Brits not looking after their teeth. I expect I'd get turned back at the border if I tried to enter the US without a full set of gleaming gnashers.
Did you consider just sticking with the Dread Pirate Bartlam look?
Just tell em you're goin home to Mississippi. We're all supposed to be toothless as well.
ReplyDeleteIt's a party at the dentist now but after tin pot gets done it'll probably be a knock on the head with a bat..pair of channel-lock pliers.
David Bowie's appeal rested partly on his lupine, snaggle-toothed grin, you know. Why not try a 24 hour Thin White Duke of Hazzard experiment, where you adopt a haughty androgynous persona for a day and wander round whistling the end bit from 'Golden Years'? The Laydeez might well love it, possibly.
ReplyDeleteI have lost about 5lbs since Lent started.
DeleteAll I need now is a pound of cocaine and a ouija board.
Remind me if I ever met you ef not to give you anything mechanical to play with. I cant talk, I chipped a bone in my left knee and had 16 stitches after a run in with a motor bike and a barbed wire fence... Problem is I love motor bikes, I ride a bit better these days though lol
ReplyDeleteHate the dentist its always bloody pain with them, even the needles for the injections hurt like a .....
Good luck
That would be a sound policy Horse.
DeleteGlad to hear you got yer dog back.
I hate the dentist, but I loved your drawing you had a lot of places to do cool things
ReplyDeleteYeah, I was always in those places.
Delete