This weekend, my husband decided to finally act on a flashback from his early childhood, and things didn’t turn out in his favor.
He’s always told me about how much fun his father and him had riding bikes in the woods. His tales are filled with fascinating adventures the twosome would have while popping wheelies, landing jumps and speeding down asphalt hills. He told me many times how his father and him would come home with cuts and bruises covering their bodies after riding all day.
Until this weekend, I didn’t really give his biking adventures a second thought. I just thought they were slightly exaggerated fun-filled memories from the past and nothing more. That is until he decided to repeat history.
My mom’s in town, and the three of us decided to take our puppies to a nearby field. My mom and I elected to walk, and my husband insisted on riding his bike alongside. He sped ahead of us when we got closer to the park, and looked around rambunctiously.
“Hon, you gotta watch this!” He said, speeding back toward us after being gone for a few minutes. “I actually found a jump that I can do.”
I rolled my eyes, and positioned myself in plain sight of the so-called “jump,” so I could watch my husband clear it. “Fine.”
He started going down a slope of grass and hit the tiny mound at the bottom. I was all ready to clap and congratulate him when things went awry. Instead of gliding seamlessly over the little hill, my husband turned his wheel slightly at the last second. With a blink of an eye, he was on the ground, with his bike on top of him.
“Are you OK?!” I screamed, dumbstruck where I was standing.
He moaned a little, then stood up quickly (yet awkward enough that I knew he was in pain). “I’m fine. I got to try that again!”
I began to protest, but he hopped on his bike and pedaled back up the hill. I looked quizzically back at my mom, who stood a little ways away. She shook her head and said, “I can’t watch this.”
I turned my head just in time to see my husband hit the jump again. I held my breath and winced.
He cleared the jump and stopped next to me smiling. “See, I told you I could do it.”
“You’re bleeding.” I said. “Bad. And you have little rocks jutting out of your forearm.”
“I do?” My husband said rotating his arm so he could see the damage. “Oh well. I’m just glad my bike’s OK.”
I’m not even going to go into detail about the words that came out of my mouth after that.
