When I was young, I loved my bike. It was black and gold with a banana seat, high handle bars and that wonderful pedal brake. Now the pedal break is vital if you really want to have fun on your bike. It was great for off-roading at the "dirt hill." And only with a pedal brake can you pop wheelies or power slide at that special spot in the road where the gravel collects. By the time I was 12, I had outgrown my banana seat and desperately wanted a 10 speed. It looked cool and I thought it would make me grown up. However, the thrill wore off quickly. I realized right away that it was much easier to climb hills, but the fun stuff was over. You can't power slide with hand brakes, and those tires are way too thin anyway. I missed my banana seat.
My riding was not without incident. There was the time I was riding the banana seat to the neighborhood pool. I hopped the curb and stood as I coasted down the grassy bank like I had done a hundred times before. I was on the same old trail traveling at the same old speed when a hole that had never been there before grabbed my front wheel and brought the bike to a sudden stop. The bike stopped, but I didn't. Instantly, I was sliding down the hill on my chest and hands. No damage except to my pride. There were other incidents involving scraped knees and torn jeans when my bell bottoms got caught in the chain. That can also be a sudden stop. Remember clothes pinning baseball cards in the spokes? My friends and I were real bikers with that tough bop bop bop bop sound coming from our motors.
The biggest event of my biker career came when I was 9. It was the last day of school, and after supper I went out with some friends to celebrate our freedom. I got separated from the others for some reason but knew where they had gone and where they would show up. So, I decided to have some fun and swoop down from out of nowhere to join them when they turned the corner coming from the pool. I went to the top of the Dupes' driveway and waited. As the seconds passed, my heart began to pound harder and harder. "This is going to be really cool," I thought. Then I saw them. As they turned the corner, I quickly looked both ways and started down. My speed was perfect to make the turn, and I quickly reached the road. I faintly heard one of them cry out my name...then stars...then nothing.
I awoke on my back on the driveway. There were adults gathered around me, and I looked around for my bike. It was about 10 feet away and there seemed to be something wrong with the front wheel. I tried to get up to check it out, but the adults insisted that I stay where I was. That made me a little mad, but then I saw my leg. There was a strange knot on the side of my lower leg, so I decided to do as they said. The short side of the story is that I did not see the VW Bug headed my way. The 19 year old driver never saw me until I was on his hood. My left leg was broken between the knee and ankle, and I had a slight concussion from impacting the windshield. I spent 4 days in the hospital. That was the beginning of my summer vacation.
You might think it was a horrible experience, but I have to disagree. Strangely, I'm thankful for the accident, because it led to the best summer of my life. When I was a child, both my parents were teachers. So, the whole family was all off together. We always did things together, and I remember many things from my childhood. But rarely do I remember when they occurred. That summer, however, stands alone. I'm not sure if my parents were trying to make up for the loss of freedom or if I was just more keenly aware, but it seemed that we spent even more time together as a family. Perhaps I was only receiving the benefits that were always there but had missed by being out in the neighborhood all the time. We had picnics in the back yard, and Daddy started a big project for my room. He had built furniture for my sisters before that, and now it was my turn for a major overhaul.
My full size bed had a headboard with three pocket bookcases built in. Daddy turned it on it's side and made a really cool unit with randomly sized permanent shelves. (He still uses it under the house to store motor oil and such.) We hung that on one wall. For the other wall, we made long shelves, and I learned how to use a chisel to make notches for the supports. We painted them with oil based enamel red, blue, green and yellow and used the same colors in random fashion on the headboard unit. I learned a little about removing oil based paint, too. To replace the bed frame, Daddy made a nice plywood box with an opening at the foot end, which served as storage for games and toys. The really exciting part of the whole thing was the support piece across the middle of the bed frame. It created a secret compartment that was only accessible by lifting the bed and box springs. Of course it wasn't all that secret, because I needed someone else to do the lifting until I was in Middle School. With the shelves, bed frame and a fresh coat of paint, I had a brand new room.
Here I am painting...
I wore that plaster cast for eight weeks. Ha, I hadn't noticed before, but you can actually see signatures around the knee. When they cut off the cast a strange thing happened. The technician removed it and told me to swing down from the table. The moment I did, my leg involuntarily lifted off the floor. After carrying the extra weight for a couple of months, my muscles automatically compensated. I was intrigued, but it never happened again. I suppose the brain said, "Oh, well, I'm glad that's gone."To make up for the lost summer, my parents took me to the beach for a week before school started back. We always camped at Myrtle. That was back in the good old days. Pine trees...lots of families...bamboo fishing poles...Japanese lanterns...Coleman stoves...and bug lights. Daddy, ever the good dollar stretcher had built his own car carrier. In it was our 5 man tent, cots, stove and traveling kitchen. The kitchen was a large wood box with drawers and plenty of room for all the necessities. I think it even had a towel rack, but I'm not certain about that. (I think he still has it under the house, too.) Mama had made special sheets for the cot mattresses, and it felt just like home. And she could really make a good meal at the picnic table. I still occasionally hear what sounds like an old Coleman stove and swear I smell bacon frying.
I'm glad I was reminded of that summer. What could be viewed as tragedy was for me a real blessing...memories I will cherish the rest of my life. Sometimes I question God, "Why did this happen? This is not what I wanted." But I am comforted knowing that He is fully aware of my needs and is never far away. I can trust Him and rely on His promises. I may not see more than a few steps of the trail, but when I follow Him, I find what is best for me. He has promised, "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'" (Jeremiah 29:11)
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