Skinless
Way before I got a decent BMX and began, on a regular basis, slamming myself in to the ground for fun, I had an almost-BMX; one from the mountain-bike shop which looked like everything a small boy could ever need. Out of all the crashes (or what us BMXers like to call ‘slams’) I have had over the years, and there have been literally hundreds, one of the worst I ever had was on that purple and green and black (with pink pedals) Tropicana Free-King.
I had decided that today was the day I would beat the no-handed demon. A particularly cruel and dangerous demon to confront, taking on the no-handed demon was something nobody in my street had ever done. If anyone was going to do it then it was going to be me! It was something the bigger boys did and involved, yes, removing BOTH hands from the handlebars simultaneously and going along like that for half the length of my road.
I remember the moment my hands came off vividly. I didn’t think much about it. Instead, I just threw them off and flung them in the air. Then it happened. The bike steadied and there I was, beating the living daylights out of this oh-so-scary no-hand demon!
Things went wrong fast, and unfortunately landed me in the hands of a couple of gentlemen with locum doctors jobs. Due to the nature of my pesky neighbour and her appalling gravel drive, my front tire hit some gravel, the front-end disappeared and an innocent ten year old was catapulted headfirst in to the ground. My face hit the ground and was then dragged along the ground for about ten feet. When I came to stand-still there was no skin left on the one side and the tarmac was sticky with blood.
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