For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved riding my bike; I’ve loved the rush of going way too fast and lifting my hands into the air to catch the wind and turning sharply so that one of my legs would almost scrape the road beneath me; then stopping suddenly so the tires would create marks on the pavement. My Grandpa had taught me not even bother with training wheels telling me that sticking my legs out in front of the bike for balance was a much better way to learn. I’d fallen so many times I’d lost count but I’d never given up; every single time I would just pop back up and try again. Most of the time I didn’t even wear a helmet or shin or elbow guards because I hated how they felt on me, this only increased my amount of bumps and bruises but I was still much too stubborn to wear them. By the time I turned eight I was extremely confidant on almost any type of bike on any type of road and in any conditions and it was on that very same birthday that I received Sidewinder.
Sidewinder was the name I gave my brand new multiple gear black and red bike, all of the other bikes that I’d rode up until that point were hand-me-downs but this bike was brand new and nothing could have made me happier. I couldn’t wait to take it out and ride for as long as my heart contented so right after party I went up to my favorite riding spot right next to my cousin’s cow field. The hill was very steep and lined with electric barbed wire fencing on one side to keep the cows in and a cliff that signaled the end of the mountain on the other. The road was gravel and barely kept up. For me there was no better place to ride my new bike for the first time. I’d ridden that particular stretch of road multiply times, so I had no doubts in my mind about what I was about to do as I pushed Sidewinder up the hill. I could have easily ridden up the incline but I wanted my first time driving it to be on the way down--something I would soon come to regret.
Once I had finally reached the top of the hill I turned the bike around aiming it downhill. Getting on and pushing off, I began flying down the hill much too fast. I’d realized my mistake much too late; I had no idea how to work a gear shift bike and I was already going too fast to brake without flipping the bike end over end. I saw that there was no way to stop and no way to slow down; I was going to crash and there was no way out of it.
I was panicking and losing control fast; the world around me began to blur into one large green-brown glob as I picked up speed. The hill seemed to go on forever with no end in sight and with a cliff on one side and a barbed-wire fence on the other there seemed no way out of the horrid situation. I knew that I would crash way before I got to the bottom of the hill and I wasn’t looking forward to either alternative. The front tire hit a large rock as I was panicking and what little control I still had over the bike went out the window. What I had been trying to avoid by not breaking happened, the bike flipped end over end, sending me flying out in front it. I couldn’t tell you which would be worse--falling off a cliff or hitting the barbed electric fence--because I’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing both to compare them, but what happened was bad enough. I smacked into the fence and was promptly electrocuted. Before I could pull back, the bike landed right on my leg pressing in into the barbs. I screamed as I was cut and only electrocuted further. Ripping my leg out from under the bike to stop the searing pain of the electricity through my body, I injured myself further. The barbs that had sunk into my flesh when the bike landed on my leg caught on skin and muscle tearing almost the entire length. I sat looking down at the crimson pouring down my leg. I didn’t feel any pain; I didn’t really feel anything, and when I got up to walk home it didn’t feel like I was even in my own body. I had no control over my body. As I stumbled home, I placed one foot in front of the other.
I can’t remember much of the walk home other than the fact that I’d left Sidewinder down by the fence and the fleeting feeling of being upset that I had torn my favorite pair of jeans. After somehow making it all the way back to my house, I stumbled into the kitchen and then into the living room. My mom stood bolt upright “OH MY GOD MADISON,” she screamed rushing over to me, but before she could get there what little of my vision I had left faded as my world went black.
I woke up in a bright white room that smelled much too strongly of cleaning products. Every sight hurt my eyes and every noise sent my head spinning. I slowly became aware of a hand squeezing mine softly. I looked over to see my mom beside the bed. “Hey sweetie how you doing,” she said. It was then that it dawned on me that this bright, too-clean smelling place was a hospital and I remembered what had happened.
“How long have I been….,” my voice trailed off as I searched for the right words in my medicated daze.
“Not long, honey; it’s still your birthday,” my mom answered and her hand squeezed tighter. “You sure did give us all quite the scare though,” she said with an uneasy laugh.
I look out the window beside my bed onto the hospital parking lot. “What happened?”
My mom let out a breath of air in a sigh before answering. “Well after whatever it was that happened you came home into the living room and passed out. We called 911 because of that and the fact that you were bleeding pretty badly. They rushed you here, stitched up the cut, and then put you on watch because they feared you may have lost too much blood.” She said it quickly as if she was trying not to relive the whole ordeal and hated the fact that she was being asked about it.
“Oh,” I said, looking back from the window and down towards where my legs would have been if they hadn’t been covered by blankets.
We sat in silence for a long time, nothing but the sound of the machines between us.
“Madison?” I looked up at my mom but before I could answer she continued, “What happened?”
I shrugged. “I crashed my new bike into Jason’s barbed, cow fence; it hurt pretty badly.” I heard a chuckle and glanced up towards the room’s door to see my dad standing in the frame.
“I bet it did,” he said, walking over to my mom and hugging her. “She’s going to be fine, Fran, she’s just a little shook up is all.”
My mom nodded.
“What did they say?” Dad said and smiled.
“Well they said she’s looking just fine and that she can go home today if she wants to. We just have to be careful of the cuts and then just come back in a couple of weeks to get the stitches removed.” My mom let out a relived sigh. “I’ll go get the paperwork for letting her out together.”
Dad nodded and said goodbye as she left the room. Walking over to the bed my dad ruffled my hair. “How about we all go out and get ice cream.”
I perked up. “Yeah, the kind with the hot fudge and sprinkles.”
Dad laughed at my enthusiasm. “Sure thing, birthday girl”
***
“I hate you,” I muttered under my breath to the inanimate object in front of me. I stood in my driveway alone looking over Sidewinder. My stomach flipped at the sight of it almost as if the accident were happening all over again and I was still tumbling across the hot gravel road waiting for the sting of electricity and the smell blood. My hands balled into fists as I stared at the bike in front of me; it had been about two months since the incident but that didn't change the fact that I could hardly stand to look at it. My wounds had healed. I’d gotten my stitches taken out and I’d even gone to a few doctors’ visits to make sure I didn't have muscle or nerve damage due to the electricity, but I still couldn't get over the fact that it had happened. Just the thought of getting on the bike, let alone riding it, made me sick sometimes, even causing me to hyperventilate or panic. My parents and grandparents told me that I needed to let go of my fear and to continue doing what I loved but I just couldn't. For the past few weeks my grandfather had taken care of the bike, putting in the shed when it rained, keeping its tires full of air and checking its gear shifts and brakes. He’d even given it a new paint job in hopes of helping me move on from what had happened, but nothing worked. I continued to refuse to ride it. One part of me never wanted to bicycle again--to be done with it completely--but another larger part of me wanted to feel the wind in my hair and the rush of speed again. I wasn’t going to lose this; I wasn't just going to give up on my favorite thing in the entire world no matter how much I was afraid of getting hurt again. I was more afraid of never bicycling again.
I stepped forward and put my hands on the handlebars. Drawing a shaky breath, I swung my legs over the seat. Placing my feet on the ground, I pushed myself forward till I was looking over the hill--on one side a cliff that signaled the end of the mountain and on the other an electric barbed wire fence meant to keep my cousin’s cows in. Drawing a deep breath I sat down. “But I’m not going to let you ruin this.” I pushed myself those last few inches over the top of the hill and tightened my grip on the handles. This was the only way to conquer my fear, and I was determined to get my confidence back.