Thursday, December 09, 2004

2004 Highlights TOP TEN #4

In no particular order. part 4
July 2004

It was a bright summers day and I had gone to the gym/ruuning track to pump some weights and clear my head.

At the gym it is often quiet during the day and I usually train there twice a week. Oddly enough, the running track is one of the few places I can trully say in London that offers a bit of peace and quiet. It is airy and bright and you cannot hear the sound of traffic. I know the staff quite well so it is relaxed and laid back.

Nonetheless, the gym manager had his mountain bike there and I asked if I could have a go. He had quite a nice bike and of course he insisted that I did not do any skids.

How many self respecting big kids and resist the urge of doing skids?

I increased my speed.

Raised my self up from the saddle and shifted my weight forwards on to the front wheel.

I saw the space.

Planned the move.

And pulled the brake as tight as I could.

The wheel locked tight.

I pitched up.

With my weight already shifted forwards there was not a lot I could do.

(At this precise moment I must explain to you what I realised at that precise moment: The brakes on this cunt's bike were the wrong way around. In UK the left brake is the REAR wheel. I later learned that he had imported his bike from the USA where the left brake is the FRONT wheel. Personally I think it is irresponsible of him to not tell me but at that moment I had other priorities.)

It was the front wheel that had locked.

Totally. The tyres grip was solid to the ground.

My speed was too much. The bike stopped moving.

I did not.

Pitching up onto one wheel.

No matter what - I was going over.

Slow motion.

The ground looked tough.


My head landed at the same time as my shoulder.

Staring at the blue sky.

I'm sure that fucking kid from the Simpsons was there cos I heard him cry. "Haw-haw."

I have one thick skull. But I had one fat dent in it and a dirty great bif scab. Not a lot of blood. But scratches and shit all up my shoulder.

For the next few weeks I had to recount this above story countless times because I had a huge scab on my head above my eye and on my cheek. And on my knuckles. Needless to say, it drew a lot of attention to me.

On the plus side, bruises and scabs around my eye and on my knuckles made me look one hard bastard who did stuff like fight people. I was able to stare out everybody.

Little did they realise that a supposed adult like me had mashed himself not through fighting or cool stuff like that - but by trying to look cool and do skids on a bike.


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