Saturday morning, my husband go a phone call. The speakers he had lined up for Sunday were ill. He gave me the infamous "Puppy Dog Eyes" and before I knew it, I was saying yes to filling in as speaker in church. I drew from an experience as a small child and decided to share this little story with my friends:
I grew up in a neighborhood which lined a very very steep road. It was the perfect sledding hill in winter and provided biking thrills in the summer. It was aptly named, “suicide hill.” Back in the “olden days” our bicycles were different than the sophisticated fully equipped and tricked out bikes of today. I had an old Stingray with a banana seat and big handle bars, perfect for sitting a little brother on. The safety features, how ever were limited. Bike helmets had not been invented, at least to our knowledge, and the braking system was in the pedals.
I remember one hot summer’s day, I straddled my purple stingray while over looking the downward slope of suicide hill. As I began my decent, the thrill was no less than it had been on countless other rides. My little brother, skooched between the handle bars encouraged, “Pedal faster Sandi, Pedal faster.” My legs pumped hard and steady, and then suddenly, the pedals spun wildly out of control. The chain had fallen off and I had no way to stop our descent. Fear gripped me so hard, my vision got fuzzy and I couldn’t think or breathe. Just knowing that I may not be able to control when I would stop, I began to have difficulty steering and the bike wobbled precariously down the steep slope, picking up speed. A thought struck me that pedaling backwards might help, so I uselessly flailed the pedals backwards to no avail.
Seconds turned into endless minutes as I tried everything in my power to stop the forces of gravity from pulling us down that hill. I didn’t know what to do once I got to the bottom. I usually slowed myself in time to turn into our lower driveway, but today I needed a new plan. I can do this, I thought. I gripped the handle bars are once again that I could at least stay the course. I realized also that because I wasn’t able to pedal, I was going no faster than usual and the fear began to fade. I also discovered that the road continued for some time below my driveway, that there was an alternate route. While I was uncomfortable passing my usual stopping place, I continued to steer the bike to the bottom of the hill, around the bend and up a slow grade until the bike lost momentum and I was able to put my sneakers to the ground and skid myself to a stop. My brother dismounted from the handlebars, blissfully unaware of my panic as was evidenced by the bugs in his teeth. “Do it again” he said, “do it again!”
I grew up in a neighborhood which lined a very very steep road. It was the perfect sledding hill in winter and provided biking thrills in the summer. It was aptly named, “suicide hill.” Back in the “olden days” our bicycles were different than the sophisticated fully equipped and tricked out bikes of today. I had an old Stingray with a banana seat and big handle bars, perfect for sitting a little brother on. The safety features, how ever were limited. Bike helmets had not been invented, at least to our knowledge, and the braking system was in the pedals.
I remember one hot summer’s day, I straddled my purple stingray while over looking the downward slope of suicide hill. As I began my decent, the thrill was no less than it had been on countless other rides. My little brother, skooched between the handle bars encouraged, “Pedal faster Sandi, Pedal faster.” My legs pumped hard and steady, and then suddenly, the pedals spun wildly out of control. The chain had fallen off and I had no way to stop our descent. Fear gripped me so hard, my vision got fuzzy and I couldn’t think or breathe. Just knowing that I may not be able to control when I would stop, I began to have difficulty steering and the bike wobbled precariously down the steep slope, picking up speed. A thought struck me that pedaling backwards might help, so I uselessly flailed the pedals backwards to no avail.
Seconds turned into endless minutes as I tried everything in my power to stop the forces of gravity from pulling us down that hill. I didn’t know what to do once I got to the bottom. I usually slowed myself in time to turn into our lower driveway, but today I needed a new plan. I can do this, I thought. I gripped the handle bars are once again that I could at least stay the course. I realized also that because I wasn’t able to pedal, I was going no faster than usual and the fear began to fade. I also discovered that the road continued for some time below my driveway, that there was an alternate route. While I was uncomfortable passing my usual stopping place, I continued to steer the bike to the bottom of the hill, around the bend and up a slow grade until the bike lost momentum and I was able to put my sneakers to the ground and skid myself to a stop. My brother dismounted from the handlebars, blissfully unaware of my panic as was evidenced by the bugs in his teeth. “Do it again” he said, “do it again!”
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