So ... same bike same age.
I could ride sitting on the seat and would slap the pedals with my feet as they went by.
I couldn't ride in the road so I would just circle our small yard.
One day, on my journeys, I discovered a washout running down the back of the yard down the hill. It looked inviting so I road my oversized bike down the washout.
I got about half way down and hit some of the unevenness of the trail and me and the bike went into a tumble.
The handle bars hit me dead center in the stomach.
I lay there for what seemed hours tangled up in the bike and gasping for air.
My brother witnessed my bad judgment and ran to the house and screamed at my mom "Dain killed himself". Obviously didn't say Dain.
So my mother runs out of the house and down the hill and snatches me up and out from the bike.
She brushes a little dirt off me and asks me if I am okay. I nod because I am still out of breath. She then notifies me that the hill is off limits and heads back to the house.
