A Bump in the Road

Okay, this is it. The race is about to begin. My fingers hold tight to the handlebars of my purple bike, ready for take-off at a moment’s notice. My head is held high in pride because I know this is one race I am sure to win. I was never the fastest, the biggest or the strongest, but I already knew I had them beat. There was no one I knew who could out do my perfect balance. I could always find my center and never falter, and that was what today's race was all about. I was not nervous; my outcome was sure. The only way I was going to walk away was with the admiration of every child who dared challenge me. Boy would they be in for a shock as they learned that once they put the ball in my field, this undersized wisp of a girl would show up boys everywhere. If only I knew before I set off down that road, before the countdown was over, that this sure win would land me in the emergency room, I might have been more humble.

I know the rules, and I am ready. Line up with your back tire even with the street sign. Once the countdown is given, peddle as fast and as hard as you can until you pass the last post in a long line of black mailboxes. Now this is where the fun begins; this was my secret weapon. For, like most childhood games, simple is simply not good enough. To make life fun there has to be a twist, an edge, and a bit of danger. Once you had used every last bit of your power to send you soaring that first stretch on racetrack, you had to pull your feet free from the cyclone of peddles and cross your legs pretzel style over the center bar. From this twisted stance your job was to become as aerodynamic as any ten year old child can be and glide to the end of the cul-de-sac. Last one there is the rotten egg.

Boy was I flying. While my gangly mid growth spurt challengers were finding balancing a chore, I was right on point. My eye was only for the finish line and the badge of glory. I, Rebekah Guin, would lose no more. My focus was so complete that I missed something that would change my envisioned outcome in the blink of an eye. In that quick flutter of eyelashes, I missed the hum of an engine. In that brief lapse, I missed the four rolling tires. Somehow in all that joy, I missed the minivan with whom I was sharing my turnpike.

Jerking on my handlebars, I moved far too quickly for a metal frame on two old tires to remain upright. Now this was an easy fix. Anyone who has ever been on a bike knows that if you get in trouble, you need only put your feet down. This is all well and good, but holding true to the rules of my epic flight, my feet were otherwise tied up, with each other that is. So with nowhere to go, and bike falling fast, there was only one way to go. A graceless swan dive over the handlebars gave me a stop I was searching for. Sadly, the road chose to stop on my face.

Out of breath, and cheeks burning red, I reached up and touched my forehead just above my left eye. My fingers were witness to a magic trick that day, for where a flat bone had been, was a bump raising so quickly that it was equally as frightening as it was painful.

I don't really remember much of what happened then. I know someone got my mom. I know an ER doctor scanned my head. What I remember more than anything was exactly the way the bump looked on my face. Sticking out of my skull was a perfect replica of a flesh-toned golf ball. Where the small divots would be on the original, were bloody scraps from where the road had proved it was stronger than me.

So what is the moral wrapped up in this little tale? Is it always wear a helmet? Could it be to stay out of the road, to look where you’re going, or even be humble when you think you cannot fail? The answer is simply that I do not know why I am telling this story. Take whatever meaning you want and I bet you can find solid grounds to state your point. The only thing I can tell you for sure is that now, years later, if I see a golf ball, I touch my forehead and remember a bike race that will never be forgotten.