i was 4-5. so '73-74. lived on a farm in wisconsin with a giant grass hill that went down to a dirt driveway. at least, when i was that young it seemed like a giant hill.
we had a bunch of scrap bikes in various barns and my older brother put together a rusted up 20" together and shoved me down the hill. no training wheels, no tutoring, just " quit crying and get on!"
after about ten times of all sorts of falls, i finally made it down the hill to the driveway.
no one explained coaster brakes to me yet. or peddling.
so i kept on flying, then rolling, then wobbling, and finally falling over.
i remember being a skinned up, bloody, grass stained mess. but the next day i was riding like i was born on a bike. a few weeks later i was riding down the hill on the dirt driveway and my pantleg got caught in the chain. went down and was tangled up in the bike. being five, i couldn't figure out how to get my leg free, so i lay there crying for a long time.
then i wet my pants. (i mean, c'mon, i was five...)
then i squirmed out of my toughskins and walked back up to the house in my underwear.
after my mom cleaned me up we were walking out to get my bike and my step dad drove up in the tractor with my mangled bike on the back. he ran over it. he was probably drunk.
ahhh. memories...
