Good Ol' Greenie

These days, I make my money as a writer. I love what I do, and I consider myself lucky that I'm able to do it. If somebody told me, at ten years old, that this would be my vocation, I wouldn't have been surprised. But I may have been, just a little disappointed. I've always loved to write, but at ten years old, my first love was stunt biking.

And I have the scar to prove it.

I had several bikes growing up: an ugly purple one, a 10 speed, and a Super Cycle Gemini, from Canadian Tire. But the best bike I ever owned was a lime-green banana-seat-special that my parents bestowed upon me at the age of ten. I loved that bike, and although all my other friends had BMX's, I rode Greenie everywhere. I was fiercely proud of Greenie.

Good ol' Greenie.

The thing I loved most about Greenie, apart from the fact that it was all mine, was that it was a spectacular stunt bike. Greenie was, far and away, the best ghost-rider in the whole Morden Municipality. For those who aren't in the know, "ghost-riding" is a trick used by us stunt bikers to thrill and awe audiences and passersby. It is a highly complicated trick that involves just the right amount of skill and experience, coupled with a great deal of savvy and courage. To ghost-ride, one must peddle furiously, gaining a good head of speed down a perfectly straight road. When you are going as fast as you can, jump off. The bike will then continue on its own, as if driven by a "ghost". Greenie went farther then any other bike I knew of.

It was my pride and joy.

Naturally, I was very upset when Greenie finally ascended to that great bike rack in the sky.

The day began like any other. I bolted down a bowl of Cheerios and headed out into the sunshine. It was summer then, and my days were very, very busy. On today's agenda, my friends and I were headed to the bike jumps to hone our bike stunt skills.

The bike jumps were on a vacant lot, not far from my house, right behind my friend Heath's place. Some big kids had originally built them for their dirt bikes. But, since they hadn't been using them for quite some time, my friends and I adopted them. The great thing about the jumps was that they were set up along a circular track, with a start/finish line, and everything. We'd run the track one at a time, and time ourselves, seeing who got the most air, and who could run the track the fastest. The only rule was that you had to hit every jump.

Every jump, that is, except the BIG ONE.

The BIG ONE was the last jump, and we considered it optional. So optional, in fact, that nobody ever attempted it. The BIG ONE was too steep, too scary, and it ran over a giant dried mud pit that was like concrete.

The BIG ONE was suicide.

It seemed that even the big kids avoided the BIG ONE since a trail had been worn around it.

Heath's parents were pretty rich. He was a bit of a dork, but he had a really nice bike. It was a BMX Scorpion: an institution of European design and sleek stunt bike technology. Two hundred dollars at McClouds! Since the ramps were closest to his house, and since he had the most expensive bike, Heath always ran the track first.

There were four of us, that day. And, since all of the other kids were a bit bigger than I was, and had nicer bikes, I had to go last. For fifteen agonizing minutes, I waited for my turn. Watching all my friends: Heath, Trevor...Kent, taking spectacular jumps on their lightweight silver and blue beasts of beauty. They seemed like angels, leaping towards the Heavens!

They had bikes that were fearless steeds. Mine was a big green billy goat.

Finally my turn came. I knew that it was now or never for good old Greenie.

Sure, he maybe didn't look as nice as all those other bikes. Maybe instead of straight handlebars, they were long and curved like a snake whose middle has fallen off the branch. And perhaps my torn, stuffing leaked banana seat was an eyesore to behold. And maybe lime green isn't the ideal colour for a stunt bike.

But Greenie was my bike! My dad gave him to me when I learned how to mow our lawn! And Greenie was just as good as those expensive BMX's!

It was time to show those gawking, grinning friends of mine what a real stunt bike could do!

I tore off onto the track, headed to jump number one with a good head of speed. As I leaped into the air, I could feel the power I had over my captive audience. I could taste their awe as Greenie arched into the air. I landed perfectly and didn't loose speed as I hit jump #2.

The wind whispered against my face and rustled my orange windbreaker as the sun backlit my flawless performance.

Jump after jump, Greenie was an extension of my body. Together, we were a well-oiled machine. Greenie and I weren't just jumping, we were dancing! Creating! Making stunt bike art! I rounded the corner in triumph, heading for the finish line, Heath, Kent and Trevor cheering me, their red, hoarse faces shining in the afternoon bright.

But I was not finished yet.

As I approached them, I looked over at the hardly-tread path that lead to the ultimate finish. The BIG ONE loomed to my left, beckoning me.

Suddenly, I understood what needed to be done.

This final jump was my gateway to glory. To attempt, and conquer the BIG ONE would put my name on the lips of every child, grades three to five at Boissevain school! I would be a hero...a legend. I veered off the worn path to my friends and started up the lonely trail that ended with a steep sharp incline, and my certain victory.

Kent, Trevor, and Heath grew silent, understanding the gravity of my actions. They watched me head towards the BIG ONE...our hearts beating in unison at the monumental event that would take place.

A collective gasp arouse from the crowd as I hit the jump and rolled to the very lip of the BIG ONE'S ramp, my bike and body tilted at an impossible angle. Never before had a stunt-biker reached such height.

The world seemed to stand still for a split second, as I piloted Greenie's nose to the ground. My friends, the geese squawking in the pond nearby, the lawnmowers buzzing over half of the yards in the neighborhood froze as a new god was born!

Slowly, the ground started towards me. The impossible had been accomplished! The BIG ONE was feared no more! I, and my faithful Greenie had done what no other stunt-biker had the courage to do!

Pride coursed through me as I brought Greenie closer to the ground, preparing for a three point landing. Trevor, Kent, and Heath broke out in cheers as I prepared to touch down in that Prairie field, and into the hymns and hearts of Boissevain forever!

That's when the front wheel fell off my bike.

I don't remember the landing, but I still have the scars on my hand from that day. My mom made me wear gauze on it for a whole week.

My best friend Jason signed his name on my bandage in pencil, and my cuts got infected.

My Dad sold Greenie to a bike shop a couple of days later. The guy said some of it could still be salvaged for parts.

These days, I make my money as a writer. I love what I do, and I consider myself lucky that I'm able to do it. But when I was ten years old, for a few, short seconds, I was the greatest stunt-biker who ever lived.

And I have the scar to prove it.