1977
That was the first year I rode a bike faster than I should have, and crashed. It was pretty bad. Mark, my neighbor had two older brothers, and one of them had modified a mid 70’s Schwinn Stingray with a BMX saddle. I had two older sisters, and wasn’t knowledgeable to the ways of making bikes more fun. Being less than a decade old, we sprinted up the nearest steep hill in the neighborhood in preparation to go down it as fast as we could. I would be sailing past my grandparents’ new house in majestic fashion on the modified red Stingray. Yes, we went fast and I unfortunately things didn’t go as planned.
In 1977 things were a little rowdier. We were fully on Smokey and the Bandit vibes. You have to get that Coors across the state line before Buford T. Justice caught up with you. Is this why I’m so picky with beer? We saw Smokey jump a car and drive really fast and that seemed like fun. Being another 8 years from being able to drive a Trans Am, the best we could do was getting rowdy on our bikes.
As I skidded to a halt on the ground, the blood from the cut on my jaw was more than I had seen since I cut my toe open when I was 3. It was a hot summer day and the weird wet feel of all the blood was new. The epic 70’s t-shirt that my Mother probably tried to wash the blood out of is no more. I’m pretty sure it was for Puma brand sneakers. My friends rode off down the hill, and I stood up and checked out the blood coming from my elbow now. For some reason I was very self conscious about my legs that summer so luckily I was wearing jeans and avoided that damage. Because a bike helmet wasn’t really a common thing in 1977 the jeans were the only thing that spared me from absolute carnage.
I picked up the bike and started walking it back up the hill. I was only about a half mile from my parent’s house but it seemed much further when I was young. As I topped back over the hill walking home, my friends completed the circuit around the neighborhood blocks and found me. I was covered in blood, but my friend who loaned me the bike promptly made me aware of how much trouble I was in when his brother found out I scratched the pedals and the crank. The day was already pretty bad, but thinking of his brother beating me up wasn’t helping. I threw the bike down at him and ran bleeding and crying home.
My Mom was upset when I got home to state it mildly. Crying, bleeding, and stammering of how I was going to get beat up in the near future wasn’t very good for her mood. I was cleaned up in the bathtub with washcloths on my chin and elbow until the bleeding slowed. I was a mess, and was in fear of feeling the retribution after the damaged bike caused fury a block and a half away at my friend’s house. I’m pretty sure I comforted myself by flipping through my Star Wars cards, thinking my collection was super cool, and no one else had the 48 cards I did.
My friend’s brother never mentioned the damage to the bike to me. He never made one threatening remark to me, and was always nice to me. I couldn’t figure out how the scary older brother would let me get away with such an atrocity as damaging his bike, but I was thankful for his forgiveness.
I watched Smokey and the Bandit a few months ago, and it is still pretty good. My dad took me to see that at the drive in. I didn’t know Star Wars existed before I was at a birthday party jumping on a trampoline with someone wearing a Star Wars t-shirt. I said “What’s Star Wars” and the kid, who I didn’t know, told me it was the best thing ever. The movie was playing in the Stuart Theatre on the ground level of where my Dad had his office. He had to see it before he would take me and my brother. A week later he took us, probably so he could see it again. I no longer have my Star Wars cards. Didn’t sell them or anything cool like that, time moved on and I had no idea they actually would be as valuable as they are today. Maybe my little brother has them.
I still don’t feel comfortable borrowing bikes.