Half my life ago,
I got my seecond moutain bike, a Nishiki Stony Point.
I rode to the dirt jumps near my house,
got going as fast as I could (the computer said max of 28 miles an hour)
I went over a jump and became airborn for my first time on a bike.
That was when I realized that i should have checked to see if the bikeshop had put my bike together correctly
I told this to myself as i watched the front wheel come of the bike.
I landed, fork in the dirt, over the handlebars.
I decided i was going to be ok because i was landing in a field of grass.
It was the unkown value of that field of grass that sent me toward the light.
There was a 3 by 3 piece of concrete underneath all the prarie grass.
I was unconcious for about 20 minutes (best I can tell after reviewing the day)
I woke up and put my bike back together
I rode around my neighborhood aimlessly because I couldn't remember where I lived.
a neighbor pointed me toward my house, my dad took me to the hospital.
32 stitches, 2 catscans, one concussion, a plastic surgeon, a few cute nurses, a whole lot of painkillers and all I have left to show for it is a kick ass scar on my right temple.