Lucky to be alive!

The happiest about the new same sex marriages? Bicycles.

The first time I ever rode a bike, my oldest brother pushed me so hard that I went right out in the middle of a very busy street. I was very lucky I didn't get hit. As it was, I hit the curb on the other side and landed on dirt and rocks. The rocks broke my fall, so that was nice.

This particular bike was indestructible. It was like a Sherman tank. Nothing could faze it. A bus couldn't take it takes it down. It wouldn't bode well for the rider, but the bicycle would live on. It was black in color, and we loved it.

Being bored and mischievous (I prefer to call it creative), we decided on a great new game. We would choose a rider, give he or she (Yes, my sister also participate) a trash can lid for protection.

While the person on the bike road in circles, the others would try to knock the rider off of the bike with rocks. We played this game many times until someone connected square on with the back of my brother's head.

Down he went, and walked toward the house. As he walked away, we noticed the worst. Blood was running down the back of his head. Now, just like in an execution, none of us knew the rock the damage.

My brother was ok. He still drags his left leg a little, something they said would go away in time, but he's 58. I don't think the doctor knew what he was talking about.

I got a really cool bike later on, but was never the same as our old one. In fact, the last time I rode my fancy bike, it completely fell apart. I had just come down a very steep hill, turned toward our house, which was up a steep hill. Naturally, I tried to get as much momentum as I could, so I stood up and pedaled as fast as I could. Suddenly, the bike disintegrated.

The goose neck came of, which meant I no ability to steer. Next, the chain came off. In the end, I sat there in the street, with road rash that took it's own sweet time to heel. From that point on, it was only motorized mini bikes for me. A story for another day.

See you tomorrow.