Bicycles aren’t good for the environment. Not my environment. Not my sanity. Not my domain. Not my physicality.
The year was 2002. I was twelve.
I was riding on a dirt road, which wasn’t unusual; we did it often, probably daily.
But this day, this day was different.
I had a burgundy ten-speed mountain bike. It was my pride and joy. I loved that bike. I rode it so much. Up hills, down hills, across hills, flatlands, roadways; you get the point. It was a well-ridden bike.
So much so that the wires that connected the brake handles to the brakes started coming loose. Those wires were necessary to work the brakes. And if they failed, I took a page from Fred Flintstone’s Book of Braking. Sometimes, I did that in addition to braking, depending on the urgency of the stop.
But that day, the wires came loose from the plastic holder on the bike frame, which caused them to hang.
They were hanging just above the chain on my bike. On a bumpy pothole-covered dirt road. Of course, I was unaware of this at the time.
There was a hill up ahead and I pedaled as hard as I could. I stood up and pedaled. And that, my friends, is some high-powered pedaling. When you stand up, it’s serious.
At the base of the hill, the wires reached the fast-moving chain. They got caught up in chainring.
In doing so, it caused the chainring to cease spinning, which caused the wheels to stop spinning. Thus causing the bike to come to a complete and total standstill.
However, Caleb did not stop. Caleb kept going.
Over the handlebars, across the gravel, skipping across the road like you would skip a flat stone across a pond.
My entire left side, chest to my knees, was raw. And I’ll just leave it at that. The red liquid flowed.
I limped back to the house in more pain than I’d ever felt. I didn’t trust that bike anymore. I might’ve been able to duct tape the wires up, but I don’t remember trying. Nor do I remember riding that bike again.
Later, someone gave us an old bike. It was simple. There were no wires, no frills, no varying speeds. To stop the bike, one had only to push the pedal back.
One summer evening, I was speeding down the hill to my parent’s house, when, at the bottom of the hill, the bike stopped moving forward.
Of course, once again, I kept going. Momentum carried me up over the handlebars and through the air.
This time I didn’t skid. I went up, over, then straight down. It was a perfect arc. My face, chest, and legs landed at the same time.
I couldn’t breathe for around five minutes. I lay on the driveway until I could fill my lungs with the dusty air. I never figured out why that happened.
If bicycles are good for anything, it’s this:
Learning how to deal with pain and misery.
And if you have a bike and ride it regularly, you might want to check all the wires. You’re welcome.
to the cyclers,
– Caleb
caneymountainblog.com 