New bicycles

     After teaching my brother (see that story), David, to ride a bicycle it was time for him to choose his prize.  Robert, our middle bother,sent a check to make the purchase of a nice bicycle for David.  After seeing the amount of the check Mom and Dad judiciously decided that two bikes should be purchased, no helmets.
     We traveled to Kmart for David to choose the bike he wanted. A turquoise ten speed with hand brakes.  My bike was the women's counterpart.  I loved it.  Though I was very upset that it wasn't going to be assembled in the store. Dad being a bit of a procrastinator and having long work days would not be assembling the bikes right away.
     I am not sure how long it was before the bikes were assembled, but the first time we rode them I will never forget.  My sister's family was making a rare visit for her birthday, February 19, 1989.  The day was lovely.  Mom was making a big dinner.  Dad assembled the bikes.  David would get to ride with Dad first as he "earned" the bicycles.  I wanted Dad to ride his own bike and let us both go.  He refused and took my bike.   It was disappointing that I wasn't first to ride my new bike.
     After a half hour or so they returned.  Dad gave me an intense instructional on how to use the handbrakes. Putting the fear of God and flipping over the handle bars into me.  I practiced before we left.  We discussed how turning into our driveway might be tricky if going too fast. Have you ever transitioned from asphalt to gravel to grass at a high rate of speed on a ten speed's skinny tires? Not easy. We were new to the house and the road was parallel to the drive and on a sharp curve.  The hill our house topped was a 61 degree angle with small bridge at the bottom.  If I couldn't stop it was best just to follow the road.
     We started off and rode about a half mile testing different gears and enjoying the wind in our faces.  Turning back, because Mom was expecting help and company was coming.  It was a really great ride.  Until it came time to slow down and turn into the yard.  The brakes wouldn't work!  I wasn't slowing down.  Fifteen mph as I passed the driveway.  Twenty-five around the bend. Thirty as I crossed the bridge. Heading up the next hill I thanked God I was still alive.
      I was angry.  He put the bike together wrong.  My brakes didn't work.  I didn't want to ride it till it was fixed.  Dad disagreed. We argued.
10 year old me, "Please fix it first."
"No way, either ride it up the hill or you don't get to keep it."
"Dad the brakes don't work. Can't I just walk it back so you can fix it?"
"No. You will be too scared to ride it again. Get back on the horse."
"Dad!"
"No, either ride it or it goes in storage."
      I walk the bike further up the hill opposite our house.  I will need the momentum to climb the big hill. One more time I try to reason with him.  Reason fails and I shoot past him down the hill.
     I love my bike! I love riding without my knees under my chin.  The freedom...
     The chain comes off the bike.  I was .25 seconds before the bridge, in that gravelly spot that can be found on either side of every bridge.  The bike stopped without warning and went down, like a giant hand flicked me over.  The skin on the left side of my face was ripped off.  My left front tooth broken in half and worn in layers like shale.  I lay at the side of the road, numb. Dad stops to see what happened.  He helps me up.  Tells me to get back on the bike.
      This time I refuse.  He is yelling.  I am crying.  I pick up the bike and start walking.  He is yelling about how he will keep the bike locked up.  I need to get right back on.  Half way up the hill the pain hits. I can't take his words any more and throw the bike into the grass.  I run as fast as my broken body will go.  My hips and knees throb. My side is covered not with road rash as I didn't slide, but dents, cuts, and imbedded gravel. I run to get away from his voice.
     Inside Mom greets me with a task of some sort.  But drops the dishtowel and I see in her face that it is really bad.  Rushing to the bathroom. I don't turn on the light but look in the mirror in the darkened room.  What I see frightens me.  Suffering harsh words from family and peers about my appearance on a good day, I don't see anything salvageable in the mirror. HALF of it is gone.  The light comes on and mom says I need to make sure there isn't any gravel in my skin. SHE needs to make a phone call.Sobbing I probe my face for gravel.
     Mom is on the phone with Kay, "Yes, it is bad.  She is crying about her face.  Didn't realize she is so vain. Let me ask her." Then to me,  "Do you want Kay to stay away?" foot tapping.  Kay is her best friend.  Kay is the best. It IS Kay's birthday.  "Yes, I want Kay to come." It will be a distraction.  Maybe she can talk some sense into Dad about letting me ride the bike.
     Kay comes with her husband and baby.  They stare.  I eat applesauce for dinner, while they eat steak and all the fixings.  Applesauce, for 3 weeks because chewing hurt and could open a scab.  No one thinks to buy straws so I can drink with out hurting the wreckage left in my mouth.
     I miss school.  But Dad calls and tells the teacher "I had an accident because I didn't know how to ride my bike."  The teacher shares that story with the class to prepare them for my eventual return and the wreckage that no doubt would be my face.
      Dad tells everyone the same story.  It is 23 years before I find out that it wasn't my classmates being mean, making stuff up.  They believed what they were told. People at church had heard of similar incidents, people flipping over their handlebars.  My brothers believed it.  My sister thought it made sense.
     Looking back I realize how blessed I was that day and during the healing process.  I was riding my bike that spring after it was repaired.  Yes, it might have been vain to pray so hard for something superficial like your face, but God answered that prayer.  I had no scarring and no discoloration of my skin. The damaged tooth took much longer to heal and became a feature player in my appearance.  If the chain had come off a fraction of a second later I would have hit the side of the bridge and my story would have ended with a broken neck.