As I get a little older and my memory tries to fade, I often take some time to think about those times as a young child. Some of those were times were fond memories while others I might want to forget. The story that I am about to tell you probably falls right between the two.

I was about ten years old at the time. It was the beginning of the summer break and I was ready for fun. But it didn’t take too long to become bored and looking for something to get into. On this particular day, both of my older brothers, my friend Mike, and I were hanging out. At some point, someone in the group playfully ran there bike into one of the others. I don’t remember who it was, I just remember that it wasn’t me. Regardless of who was to blame, the spark had been lit. The next few hours, each of us spent time in their garage, searching through the junk in hopes to find all that they might need. When all was said and done, each of had created our war machines. The war machines were actually bits and pieces of old bicycles put together like a miss matched jig-saw puzzle.

There we were, behind the old school building, setting on our new contraptions, ready for war. Each of us stood ready in our corner of the concrete pad that was once a basketball court. I can remember feeling just how fast my heart was beating as I waited for someone to say go. When the word came, each of us stood tall on the pedal, pushing it down with all our strength. A few short seconds later there was a major collision some where near the center of the court. With intense laughter, we did our best to untangle our war bikes. But this was difficult because it was nearly impossible to tell what part belonged to what bike.

This continued for sometime. Me being the smallest, and youngest, meant that I was taking a beating. The only break that I had was when we had to wait for someone to repair their bike. This usually consisted of a lot of banging, a little slamming and a lot of hope.

At some point, I decided that I was getting a little tired of being on the losing end of things. So I decided that I would give this next battle everything that I had left in me. Someone yelled go, and we were off. My thinking was to take out the biggest target first, so I headed straight for my oldest brother. I peddled that bike like there was no tomorrow. As our war machines grew closer I could see his evil grin grow even larger. I am sure that in his mind, I was easy prey. This only gave me more determination. I gave the peddle on last shove as the front tire of my bike collided with the front fork of his.

I would love to be able to tell you exactly what had happened after that. But I can only tell you what happened from my perspective. The bike somehow disappeared from under me as I flew toward my oldest brother. But instead of smashing into him, my body jerked to a stop. For a very tiny fraction of a second, I couldn’t understand what had just happened. But I can tell you that I was not thinking of the laws of Physics that we had discussed the past year in science class.

Instead, I was now going the same direction as my brothers bike as the back of my head was introduced to the concrete floor. This not only happened once, but three times. I can still remember what the sky looked like that day as I heard each thud as my head bounced off of the concrete.

Finally coming to a stop, I was surprised to see everyone rush to my side. This surprised me because I wasn’t feeling any pain. Then I noticed what they were looking at. I lifted my head to get a better look. Now I have thought about this many times and still have no idea how this was even possible. My left leg went under a spoke, then on the outside of the fork and then under another spoke. My leg and the front wheel of my brothers bike had been woven together with the skill of a master basket weaver. I think it was about that time that I started to feel the pain; not in my head, but in my leg instead.

My oldest brother tried several times to pull my leg free, but was unsuccessful. It was just to tight of a fit. At that time, he yelled to my other brother to run to the house and get some tools. No we weren’t prepared for this, but to be fair, no-one was as paranoid back than as we are now. And we always seemed to find a way to survive. I remember watching my middle brother as he ran across the empty field and across the railroad tracks, wishing that he could run a little faster. But thinking back on it now, I realize that no-one would have been able to run as fast as I wanted them to run right then.

A few minutes later, I could see him coming back, running with the same intensity as he had just a minute before. As he got to the scene of the crash, he handed my oldest brother the tools as he tried to catch his breath. My oldest brother looked through the choices and quickly decided to go with the wire cutters. I could feel the pressure as he tried to cut the spoke with the dull cutters. Finally, I heard a subtle snap at the same moment that I felt some relief. He wasted no time in cutting the second spoke, finally freeing me from the war machine.

My leg did hurt a little, but now that it had been freed, the pain was measurably less. They helped me to my feet and I moved around the court, trying to make sure that there hadn’t been any serious damage done. I was fine.
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I have to admit that I was a little disappointed that my plan had failed. And if I remember right, I was ready to go again. But that never happened. I think that the rest of them were a lot wiser than I was and realized just how lucky we had been. I think that we all pushed our bikes home after that and I don’t believe that they were ever used again.
But if you were to ask me, “If you could go back in time, and do that again, would you?” and with a smile on my face, I would have to give you a resounding “Yes, those were the good ole days.”