LUCKY # 5

When I was a kid I used to like riding my bike. Getting a bike in those days was a big deal. There just didn't seem to be a surfeit of toys and things and my first bike had to be freighted up from the South Island.
It used to belong to my grandmother and was a big, black lady's bike. I know what you are thinking. Riding an old lady's bike would be social suicide. Well, it wasn't as bikes were relatively hard to come by. Imports into New Zealand when I was growing up were heavily controlled and subject to high duty taxes so new cars, bikes, radios etc. were sought after. When I was older, about 14 my Dad had to work a weekend for an acquaintance, concreting his driveway to get me a second hand 3-gear bike that the guy had.  We treasured our possessions in those days. Anyway once I mastered riding my bike I was off. After school rides as well as riding to and from school was de rigueur.

Before the fall

 I guess that I became a bit blasé about this as when I was about 10 I really came a cropper.
I remember that it was Saturday morning and had been raining. When the sun came out I jumped on the bike keen to go for a 'blat' down the road to McCallister Park before lunch. That is all I can remember about that ride. Apparently I hit a pothole or something down the road (outside old Cowboy Boyce's place (maybe he was demolishing the road or something) and went over the handlebars and landed on my head.

When neighbours came out they thought that I was dead as I was completely unmoving and covered in blood. It was a wonder that they recognised me. They carried me up the road to our house (this was the 60's  so all modern considerations of accident victims didn't exist) in a horizontal position as if they were carrying a corpse. My poor mother must have got a hell of a shock, and an ambulance was called.

Apparently I was unconscious for over a day and only remember it being Sunday night with my family gathered around the bed when I woke up.
My brother had polished my school shoes and brought them along with him.

As it was more normal for him to punch me or throw an axe at my head this was highly unusual. I suspected him of wanting me to bequeath the shoes to him or something but Mum said that he had been very worried about me.

I was in a bad way so was kept in hospital for a week. This was pretty cool for a while with all the strange sights sounds and smells (nice, warm, clean ones), lots of comics to read that my brother brought me and best of all no school. By the end of the week though I was getting a bit bored and stir-crazy and was keen to get back on my bike.
The things we put our mother's through when we were kids!

Vogeltown