Lessons from My Huffy...

I’m not sure any child can truly forget the first time they rode a bike…I can’t imagine my childhood without one. I have vague recollections of tricycles and big-wheels, but I’ll never forget my first bike. I thought it was huge…I think the wheels must have only been 12”…but to a four year-old little boy…just that day…it was freedom. I’ll have to see if I can dig out the picture of my dad running behind me as I peddled away. The funny thing is…I have absolutely no memories of falling down….that day at least.

Looking back now, I learned so much more from riding a bike than any kid would ever connect. Two major life lessons are directly related to my experiences with my Huffy. First…know when to bail. Second…get up, dust off, and get back on.

Once I perfected the art of racing as fast as I could, I was left to conquer gravity. I sought out any opportunity to defy the laws of nature…and take flight. Of course, I was much older than four by this point…I was at least eight…ancient in the ways of the dirt bike by this point. I know I took spills and tumbles off my bike prior, but one wreck stands out above the rest. Behind my house was a vacant lot, and on that lot was a rise off of the road, with a lip at the top…well I hit that lip, tried to ride my bike through the landing…and paid a hefty price.

I don’t know any man who when he was younger didn’t slide off the seat and get personal with the bike frame…I think there was some forethought there in our developmental on the creator’s part. All I remember is sliding off the seat…hitting the frame…folding over the handlebars…bouncing my lip off the forks at the front tire…and landing with the bike twisted on top of me.

As I lay there…in the dirt…I did a self-assessment. All of my extremities were still attached…there was no blood (I’m still not sure how that was possible)…and as soon as I cleared myself from the wreckage I noticed that the bike was unharmed. All that really existed as proof of my gnarly crash was an imprint in the dirt where I had been pinned under my bike.

I learned a valuable lesson that day…if it looks like you’re not going to land it…bail. Over the years I perfected that technique…at least when it came to bikes. The adrenaline rush of lift off slows down time just enough…it allows you to evaluate your surroundings. If the angle is wrong…bail…if there is something in the way (because of course we always checked our jumps before we went off them)…bail…if there is absolutely no chance of your survival…bail. And there is a wrong way to do it…if you’re not careful, you can get caught up and go down with the ship…or land too close and skid up on top of the bike. There is a point of recognition in a jump that makes for a perfect bail. Right at the pinnacle of your jump, pull up on the handlebars, use your foot closest to the seat to kick off the frame or seat to propel the bike away from you, and never forget to tuck and roll when you hit the ground.

Never…and I do mean never (that I can remember)…did I ever fail to walk away from a good bail unscathed. Dirty: check...bloody: occasionally (depending on the surface of the crash site)...broken: never. I simply picked my bike up…out of sage brush usually…dusted off my clothes…and rode away…looking for the next jump.

Life has thrown a variety of obstacles my way. I wish I could say I have walked away unscathed, but that would be untrue. Sometimes I bailed too early…not even attempting the jump…others too late. So, while I’m still working at mastering the technique of lesson number one, I am getting a lot of practice at lesson number two…when you crash: get up, dust off, and get back on.