Bikes in the mold of the Schwinn Stingray had two distinguishing characteristics: chopper handlebars and a banana seat. This particular day the handlebars would prove to be my undoing. Fortunately, I was able to eventually father a child, so things turned out all right. I was riding one day with Alan and David. They had normal bikes with narrower handlebars and managed to make it down the narrow gap between Alan’s house and his garage. I was last in line, trying to catch up (the usual situation) and so had built up a head of steam. David went through. Alan went through. My bike, unable to make it through, stuck fast between the two buildings. However, not for the last time in my life, inertia proved to not be my friend and my body shot forward. Now, the bolt that held those handlebars was in an unfortunate position vis-a-vis my sensitive place. In hindsight, an airbag might have served me well. Maybe even a balloon. Anyway, after a terribly uncomfortable ride home and an embarrassing examination by my mother, I was pronounced fit for taking it easy and watching cartoons, or whatever else was on that Saturday afternoon. Maybe Wide World of Sports. “The agony of defeat.” Ouch.

To be continued…

Ed. Note:
The author apologizes for the juxtaposition of the words: “sensitive place” and “hindsight.”