The Wreck

The summer of 1969 was the summer before I entered 5th grade.  That was the summer that Neil Armstrong & Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon, while Michael Collins orbited the moon abord Apollo 11, the Charles Manson family was on a murderous rampage in the Hollywood hills and the three day event known as Woodstock Music & Arts Festival took place in Bethel, NY.  All events would go down in history books, but it will always be the summer of my wreck.  Bicycle wreck to be exact. 

That summer I turned 10 years old and my parents got me a new bicycle and Bible.  The Bible was a white King James Version with a zipper all the way around it and a cross dangling from the zipper pull.  I still have that Bible, although the zipper and cross are long gone.  But the bicycle was a new yellow Schwinn Stingray girls bike with a banana seat that had big bright flowers all over the seat, a sissy bar and ape hanger handlebars.  It was sure faster than that old extra large bike that I had before and racing just seemed to be the thing to do, since that was one of our main forms of entertainment then.  I rode my bike up and down the street tauting my sisters and my friends because I was the first one in the neighborhood with such a dream machine.  And of course I had to taunt Mike Baker - my childhood nemesis.  Mike and I played together very well on a daily basis but there was always this competition between the two of us.  It's probably a good thing we later moved out of the neighborhood, or he and I would have surely gotten into trouble or wound up getting each other seriously hurt.  He would come up and suggest that we race.  And my answer was always a restounding NO.  My mother already knew my penchant for competition and racing etc. and had already laid the law down to me (and looking back now it was for good reason) that under no circumstances was I to race anyone on my new bike, especially Mike Baker.  So the tauting went on. Finally one day (exactly one week to the day of the beginning of 5th grade), we were all down at the gulley playing and Mike just wouldn't let it go about racing.  And he finally said the words that he knew would set me off, "Probably a good thing your mommy won't let you race, cause no girl could ever beat me, even on a new bike"  Oh, it was on then.  We sent the crowd down to my house (the finish line) and Kevin Kopecke stayed behind to make sure the race started fair. 

Mike and I lined up, our tires were exactly on the same line, both of right feet on the starting pedal, our hands on the handgrips and our heads down.  My heart was pounding.  I knew I had to win that race for two reasons.  One was, after that smart remark made by Mike I had to show him up and the other was once my mother found out I had raced she was going to whip my butt, so I had better make this race count.  On your mark, Get Set, GO!!!!  And we were off.  We rounded the bend at the end of the street and I clearly had the lead, but was no where near the finish line.  I remember I was standing up on the pedals with my head down between the ape hanger handlebars and was pedaling as fast as my little legs would go.  As we approached the finish line, I looked back and Mike was coming up beside me, so I locked and loaded, pedaling even harder.  We were almost there.  Then all of sudden BLACKNESS.  I remember nothing.  When I woke up, I was covered in gauze, laying in a hospital bed looking up at my mom, dad, Dr. Mayhew and every bone in my body ached.  My mom was crying and I said "I'm thirsty".  Dr. Mayhew responded "well, finally you decide to wake up".  Wake up?  Huh?  When did I go to sleep?  Why am I in the hospital?  Vaguely I remember my bicycle, Mike Baker, a shell driveway, a culvert and a ditch. 

For the next five days, I laid in the hospital recuperating from a wreck that I don't remember.  What I was told, was as the race was nearing the end, Mike got up next to me and kicked the side of my bike which sent me flying over the handlebars, across the neighbors shell driveway, hit a culvert, slid across our gravel driveway, hit our culvert and landed in our ditch, with blood all over my face, arms and legs.  My little sister Cyndi went running into the house screaming "Mike just killed Deedie".  My mom and dad rushed me to the hospital and they tell me I came too later that day, but I had no recollection of who anyone was and fell back unconcious for another day.  Upon waking the next day, most of my memory had returned, except for the part about the wreck.  I suffered a concussion, numerous cuts (which some required stitches) scrapes and bruises most of which were on my face, hands, elbows and knees. 

By the time I came home from the hospital, school had already started and I would look in the mirror  and beg mom to let me stay home until I had healed, which by the looks of it would be several more weeks.  Mom would not let me stay home until then.  When I went back to school, I stood in the hallway outside my class, crying because I just knew that everyone would make fun of me.  Finally my teacher, Ms McCollough came out and got me.  There were a few snickers and a few gasps, but all in all, it really wasn't so bad.  The boys were impressed that I had raced such a valent race and the girls thought I was tough as nails.  As for Mike Baker, he brought me flowers to my hospital room and a heartfelt apology.  He and I never raced after that.  He helped me to fix my bike and life on Penelope street went on as usual.  I still wonder though, who won the race?