My best friend Nancy and I rode all around our rural neighbourhood, discovering new places, like a hidden pond , full of leeches, as we discovered after a dip. One of the places we discovered was a steep hill. We could’t even get to the top the first time we tried, so over that summer, we tried and tried to ride to the top. (We are talking non-geared fixed wheel kids bikes in the late 50’s USA, here.)
After some weeks of working hard at this hill, we both made it to the top! Hurrah!
Now to get down again.
Looking down the slope, it seemed very steep. We agreed to go as fast as we could. That had been the whole point of getting to the top–to fly down!
I remember my stomach lurching as we began the descent. We were flying! Over the rough rocky surface, bouncing and jouncing, trying to steer around the biggest rocks and holes. Yelling yelling gripping the handlebars, we flew!
then the right angle bend at the bottom came into view. oh boy, beyond was a gully lined with brambles and trees. Nancy went straight on there, “choosing” the gully. I didn’t choose anything , as my front wheel hit a rock and the bike slewed sideways as the bend arrived. In a hairy skid, almost lying down on the loose gritty surface, me and the bike came to sliding halt, thanks to my left knee and elbow. Many ouches some blood. Bikes were ok. Whew! Amazingly, no ripped clothes. (Shorts and T-shirts are good like that.) That would have been a black mark with our Moms. We limped home, wincing, and eventually laughed about our big hill flying triumph.