A Taste of my Book
Jumping bikes takes nerves of steel and a mild amount of insanity. The ramp consists of an old door propped on a knotty alder log, about four feet in front of a barbed wire fence covered by blackberries. The gravel driveway entering the High School FFA field behind our house would be my launchpad. The challenge of this jump is not just the poor planning; but, also with the harsh crowd gathered to watch my impending wipeout. Doors are meant for walking through, not biking on. The alder is thick with knotty bumps that keep the door from laying flat. The audience was a mix of longtime friends, Junior High elite, a neighbor girl I dreamed to one day call my girlfriend, my older cousin - Gary; and Poochie - my dog and most loyal friend. The red mono-shock bike I straddled was a huge step up from the early 70's era banana seat I was peddling last summer. My dad must have spent all of Christmas Eve getting this beauty put together. It was the first time my fr...