When I was a young boy I was always happiest on my bike. There were many places around my home that were traffic free and great to ride on. I can remember the wonderful sensation of flying as my bike zoomed down a hill and the wind blew on my face. It was one of those pure joys of childhood that you never forget. On my bike I felt totally alive and at one with the world.

It wasn’t always so great, however. I can remember one particularly bad accident on my bicycle. I was riding on a gravel road as a change of pace and didn’t see the pothole ahead of me. I hit it head on and was flying over the handlebars before I could stop. It was the days before bike helmets and my skull was bloodied up pretty badly. I was almost a half mile from home, but started to walk there anyway. It was a tough walk and I can remember sitting down to cry at one point, but I got back up and continued on until my Mom saw me and rushed me to the doctor. I came home stitched up while my brother dragged home my banged up bike. It wasn’t long, though, before I was happily riding it again. One wreck couldn’t keep me from that joy.