I ain't as good as I once was...

As a parent, I feel it my duty to teach my son the outdoor hobbies of my childhood. What happens, apparently, is that these once second-nature skills fade without you noticing if not used on a regular basis.

In my case, I spent countless hours risking life and limb aboard my Schwinn BMX bicycle jumping over precipices of varying heights, table-topping, one-handing, no-footing, but I do not recall ever really hurting myself much. I recall competing with friends to see who could jump farthest and still clear a stack of obstacles, moving the obstacles farther from the ramp each time until someone would wipe out. Throughout my younger years it seems that my stupidity was offset with just enough grace and dexterity...

This past Saturday I spent a little time with my son David in our yard with a homemade ramp that I built for him. The ramp is small, made out of a small sheet of plywood about 18" wide, and it is propped up on a cinder block. (I also put a couple of bracing bricks under it to prevent a Napoleon Dynamite incident.)

When I first made the ramp for him, I had to demonstrate the technique (un-helmeted) of jumping. "Get up some speed...get your pedals level...pull up on the handlebars (not too hard...try and "bunny hop")...keep your feet on the pedals..." He started by rolling over the ramp, barely pulling up, resulting in the first wheel hitting the ground first and causing him to bump-bump into the grass beyond. He did have one wreck, caused only by the unexpected sensation of losing his balance upon his first actual flighted landing. But dutifully, he returned to the bike, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

Many days and many jumps have passed since that first day, and I can now proudly stand aside and watch him skillfully negotiate the ramp. I've called my wife Marcia out to watch him, proud of his bravery and happy he has mastered the technique. Now, however, his impatience for stunt-glory has caused him to ask, "When do I take it to the next level?" (Borrowing verbatim from the phrase I've used in hopes of helping him take measured steps towards larger ramps)

In response, I had him move his runway back 100 feet or more, and instructed him to stand up and pedal hard until he reaches the down slope 30-40 feet before the ramp. He started off slowly, and the result was only a tired peddler with no noticeable increase in elevation off the ramp. So, in effort to move this instruction forward, I jogged over to my Trek mountain bike, climbed on, and hastily peddled to the suggested starting point.

The first attempt went well, ending in my receiving a "Whoa!" from David. He asked, "How did you do that?" To which I responded with something like, "Lots of practice..." as I whizzed by on my way for another pass.

Of the second go, I recall a couple of distinct differences. First, I recall making a couple of extra pushes on the pedals in the space between the ramp and the down-slope. Second, I remember thinking, "I'm a little off balance..." as I split-second negotiated the small surface of the ramp.

Apparently I was correct in my assessment...I was a little off balance. The result? My tires hit the ground at an angle, hurling me side-of-unhelmeted-face/shoulder/collar bone-first into the ground. It hurt (and still does), but what strikes me most was the feeling of breathless shock that overwhelmed my entire body. My son, I assume, witnessed the event from start to finish, but did not come running to my aid. He said he thought I was "rolling on the ground" (or something) and did not realize my pain until I did not get up immediately and made my wrench-faced complaint.

After the initial shock wore off slightly and I made my way carefully to my feet, I immediately doubled over and let out an embarrassed and amazed laugh. (After relating the events to Marcia, I know that I am glad she was inside at the time, as her laughter would have probably hurt my poor, young-at-heart feelings.) I then instructed my son..."Now that, David, is what you do not want to do..." He hopefully at least learned the value of a helmet.

(That evening I took a couple of Ibuprofen, soaked in the tub, and drank a six pack over the remainder of the day...all was fine until I awoke at 3:30 am unable to locate a comfortable position...I responded with a couple more meds and Marcia applied some "Vapor-Rub" on the affected shoulder...I am still hurting, however, a few days later)

Moral? In the words of my older friend Larry: "We have to realize that we are not what we used to be." Personally, I am searching for something more in the lesson. I'll ponder it for a while and let you know.