I want to ride my bicycle

"Bicycle Race" by Queen

Story time!

This took place many, many years ago, so a lot of the memory has faded (because I've got a less than stellar memory to begin with, and as I get older, it seems to get worse), but I'll record here what I can remember.

I was 10 or 11, or maybe 12, or maybe even 13, but certainly no older than that. One fine Saturday afternoon I went out for a ride on my bike around the neighborhood (man, I miss that. Just going out and driving. I used to just go out and drive around aimlessly in my car during my early 20s as well...)
Anyway.
So I'm riding around, just cruising the blocks, not doing anything in particular, when the neighborhood bully shows up.
Yes. There truly was a neighborhood bully. He was an older kid - or at least a lot larger than I was - and I can vaguely remember his features. Tall, blonde, thick chest, a somewhat dim expression on his face most of the time. He had a reputation for beating up other kids in the neighborhood, and so I tried to stay out of his path as much as possible (I'd never actually been beaten up, and neither had any of my friends [that I recall] but the rumor was strong enough for us to not want to risk finding out if there was truth to it.)
Today, however, he spotted me. He was on his bike and I was on mine. In my mind I can see us facing each other, both frozen for a moment - like one of those nature programs where predator and prey size each other up before taking any action. (Although that may just be my memory inserting dramatic effect)
Regardless of how much the start of the encounter may have resembled Wild America, the result was the same: A chase.

I pedaled fast.

No, I pedaled fast.

He pursued.

We zipped all over the neighborhood for quite a while - and I was seriously breaking all kinds of land speed records. I mean, I was booking. Houses and trees and people in their driveways were just blurs as I sped past them. I tried shaking the bully several different times, but no matter how fast I went, or how zig-zaggy my path, he seemed to stay on me. And he was laughing. And threatening me. "When I catch you, I'm gonna pound your face in."
"You better drive faster!"
And so on.

So I took it up a notch. My legs were on fire I was going so fast. The speed of light is 186,282 miles per second. That day, at that moment, I was going 186,281.

I was in the middle of the street when I saw a car coming, so I hopped up onto the sidewalk. I took a moment to look back and saw that I was actually getting away from my pursuer. Yes! I was going to live another day!

I turned my attention back to the sidewalk, and saw that a light blue van was backing out of it's driveway. I gripped the hand-brake. The bike stopped. And...I was airborne.

For roughly 3 or 4 eternities, I flew through the sky. Then, gravity remembered it had a job to do, and I landed.

Face first.

As I sat on the ground, bleeding, crying, and having the onset of a asthmatic breathing attack, the driver of the van got out and scooped me up in his adult arms. He asked me where I lived and I managed to stutter out my address, which was only one street over, if I remember correctly.

I'm not sure if he carried me all the way there, or if someone (maybe even the bully?) went and got my father, but somehow I got home, and tended to my wounds.

The other things that stand out from this experience:
1) It was amazing (and odd and unexplainable) that I did not fly into the van. I hit the brake before the van, but I remember being on the ground on the opposite side of it. Did I fly through it? Perhaps, because I can semi-clearly remember my bicycle lying on it's side under the van, and stating something to the adult who helped me.

2) I had a black eye when it was all said and done. My face apparently hit the handlebars on the beginning of the flight. No memory of that happening, either.

3) The next Monday at school, I remember the bully laughing at me and my scarred up face. Jackass.

4) Beside the scarred up face, the black eye, and scraped knees, I was otherwise unharmed. Well, I guess my pride was a little damaged. And I never did go quite as fast on my bike again.