Dirt Bike
In 1980 my constant pleading for a motocycle was answered with a Honda 50 - totally bitchin' - Had I known the term bitchin' at 10, I would SO have used it. I think Dad bought it for $100 and boy or boy was Mom pissed. Dad's youngest brother was killed in a motorcycle accident at age 25. My memories were of him, looking very much like Jesus - seriously, and bringing his George Carlin Record over for us to listen to, you know the one with the pot leaf on it - how cool was he!! When Dean died it was the first time I saw my father cry. I've only seen it once since. Dad's a rock. Mom, a worrier.
Back to the fun. So I get my kickass dirt bike and I'm taught in the yard how to shift - I looked like Marvin the Martian in my helmet - my head was freakishly large on my malnurished little body (years later this changes). To this day I look back at pictures of myself and have no idea, based on the diet we were fed, why I looked like ET for so many years. Pork Roll would eventually be my demise.
After gaining comfort on 'la machina' I developed a route if you will, down into the backyard, around trees, across the bridge, around the 'grove' back around the back along the woods- it was a touring path and I knew when to shift, downshift, wave to my adoring fans and adjust my enormous helmet.
I had really become one with the Fifty, I was Evil Keneval at age 10 and a GIRL!!! Then the wedding day happened...
Aunt Sue arrived to pick me up while my parents went to my mother's cousin's wedding. I immediately grabbed my giant helmet and kick started 'the beast.' I began my tour, down the hill, around the meadow, over the bridge, about the grove and then it happened, I tried to negotiate a turn, there was dew, my grip was lost and I clipped a tree with my handle bars. I went 'ass over tea cups' as Mom would say, and the launched over the handle bars. I was stunned, but tough. I stood up and tried to wave, had to do it with my left arm. I then realized something was very wrong with my right arm and I struggled to get the increasingly heavy helmet off my very scared giant head. My arm was mangled, it hung twisted and had I took a good look at it, I'm sure I would have passed out. I don't know what the adults did, but I'm confident 'holy shit' 'jesus christ' and 'god dammit' were mentioned.
I was hauled away in an ambulance, Dad riding along and Mom following. The guilt dripped from Dad's face. As realistic as he was and always will be, he was convinced this was all his fault. The thought of Mom pulling up the anchor might have increased his sense of impending doom.
My orthopedic doctor was a movie star. Seriousy, he looked like Robert Redford, was a surgeon and a pilot. Mom was reduced to jello. Dr. MovieStar died in a plane crash a year after my crash. Blessed and cursed.
I had a compound fractor that didn't erupt (someday it will, when California falls into the ocean), I had surgery and a pin was put in my arm. I was out of school for a while and my lovely classmates took notes for me, which were delivered home along with word of encouragement - cool times, cool kids, cool teacher.
I will never again climb aboard a motorcycle. The Donald has a Harley and I have no desire, despite the guilt thrown at me over couples rides (WTF?) I say pass. My two wheel days are over. Call me a wuss, but I learned my lesson at 10. I am reminded in the frozen section of the grocery store when my arm catches. No thank you, four wheels please. I can however eat with my left hand, which affords me the opportunity to do the crossword puzzle WHILE eating breakfast. A small win.
Back to the fun. So I get my kickass dirt bike and I'm taught in the yard how to shift - I looked like Marvin the Martian in my helmet - my head was freakishly large on my malnurished little body (years later this changes). To this day I look back at pictures of myself and have no idea, based on the diet we were fed, why I looked like ET for so many years. Pork Roll would eventually be my demise.
After gaining comfort on 'la machina' I developed a route if you will, down into the backyard, around trees, across the bridge, around the 'grove' back around the back along the woods- it was a touring path and I knew when to shift, downshift, wave to my adoring fans and adjust my enormous helmet.
I had really become one with the Fifty, I was Evil Keneval at age 10 and a GIRL!!! Then the wedding day happened...
Aunt Sue arrived to pick me up while my parents went to my mother's cousin's wedding. I immediately grabbed my giant helmet and kick started 'the beast.' I began my tour, down the hill, around the meadow, over the bridge, about the grove and then it happened, I tried to negotiate a turn, there was dew, my grip was lost and I clipped a tree with my handle bars. I went 'ass over tea cups' as Mom would say, and the launched over the handle bars. I was stunned, but tough. I stood up and tried to wave, had to do it with my left arm. I then realized something was very wrong with my right arm and I struggled to get the increasingly heavy helmet off my very scared giant head. My arm was mangled, it hung twisted and had I took a good look at it, I'm sure I would have passed out. I don't know what the adults did, but I'm confident 'holy shit' 'jesus christ' and 'god dammit' were mentioned.
I was hauled away in an ambulance, Dad riding along and Mom following. The guilt dripped from Dad's face. As realistic as he was and always will be, he was convinced this was all his fault. The thought of Mom pulling up the anchor might have increased his sense of impending doom.
My orthopedic doctor was a movie star. Seriousy, he looked like Robert Redford, was a surgeon and a pilot. Mom was reduced to jello. Dr. MovieStar died in a plane crash a year after my crash. Blessed and cursed.
I had a compound fractor that didn't erupt (someday it will, when California falls into the ocean), I had surgery and a pin was put in my arm. I was out of school for a while and my lovely classmates took notes for me, which were delivered home along with word of encouragement - cool times, cool kids, cool teacher.
I will never again climb aboard a motorcycle. The Donald has a Harley and I have no desire, despite the guilt thrown at me over couples rides (WTF?) I say pass. My two wheel days are over. Call me a wuss, but I learned my lesson at 10. I am reminded in the frozen section of the grocery store when my arm catches. No thank you, four wheels please. I can however eat with my left hand, which affords me the opportunity to do the crossword puzzle WHILE eating breakfast. A small win.
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