|
|
|
|
The Great Divide The bike was, I think, a 22-inch Schwinn. Brand new, green and white, with chrome fenders. It was not my first bike, but my first new bike. I had outgrown the 16-inch Huffy, a hand-me-down twice over, with wheels so bent and chain so rusted that I could barely outpace the little kids on Big Wheels. The new bike was beautiful, but trouble from the get go. The first time it got me in trouble was the morning of my party. My teenage brother had just finished tightening the last few bolts, and I'd barely had a chance to ride it up and down the block, when suddenly I had to be in the house because I was the host, the guest of honor. My mother had organized some stupid game, almost as bad as Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Naturally, I snuck out the side, hopped on the bike, and headed off down the block, the wind in my hair, and the green and white vinyl streamers fluttering from the handgrips. I hadn't even gotten halfway down the block before I heard mom yelling "Get back here this instant" so I could receive the "Is that the kind of manners I taught you?" lecture in front of all my friends. Fortunately, the party finally ended with enough daylight left to take the bike for a real spin, down the block, through the alley, and over the little footbridge across the creek to the infamous challenge to all genuine cyclists, "The Great Divide," that yawning chasm of a sinkhole left over from the terrific spring flood a few years back. It was the test of courage for kids of all ages. Could you jump it? On foot? On a bike? And how far out from the drain pipe? That was the challenge. Because the gap got wider the farther out from the pipe you went. Closest to the pipe, a ten-year old girl could jump it with a running start. A little farther out, that was for high-school boys on foot, or eighth graders on bikes. And way out at the far end—well, that was only for the most daring. I knew better than to try to jump it out that far, at least not on my first try. I was not really what you'd call a daredevil. However, I knew I could jump "The Great Divide" on my new bike, because I used to jump it on my Huffy. The question was just how far out I could go. So, I set my sights on good, mid-level jump, put everything I had into the pedals, pumping and pumping as fast as a could, and then, just at the critical moment, yanked up on the handle bars with all my might to get the lift I need to clear the gap, only to have the handle bars come loose in my hands. Needless to say, I did not clear the gap. No, I did not sink into oblivion or suffer multiple fractures. I just crashed hard into the somewhat forgiving sand on the opposite bank and was thrown over where the handlebars would have been if they were still attached to the bike. The bike, my brand new 22-inch Schwinn, suffered a severe bend to the front wheel. The rest of it was okay. Unfortunately, however, since jumping "The Great Divide" was a strictly forbidden practice, I could not even reveal to my mother that I needed a new front wheel, much less get her to assist me financially. And of course, my brother, whose negligence was mostly to blame for my accident, was no help either. Eventually, I managed to get it repaired, but for the first two months of its life, my brand new Schwinn was no faster than the Big Wheels the little kids drove.
|
Description of Writing Assignment