Remember Evel Knievel and the Snake River Canyon jump?
What a wimp.
What Evel should have done was to have an in ground pool installed in his back yard, like we did. You want to see a jump? I'LL show you a jump.
Since the pool was in ground, a lot of that ground had to be removed from the earth and piled up here and there. As it turns out, the "there" pile was pretty cool. High, maybe four feet or more and rather steep. Living on a fifteen acre mini-farm at the time, we, the boys and I, had dirt bikes to ride around the field and annoy the neighbors race horses.
It's the Graham Family rule of thumb that if there's going to be bad neighbor in the neighborhood then let it be us.
Anyway, one day the combination of a steep pile of dirt AND a dirt bike caught our attention. Call us rocket scientists if you must. The challenge facing us was: could we ride the dirt bike up and over this steep mount of dirt? Since we're guys, we also made it into a game. If the boys had been older we probably would have made it into a drinking game. Now that they are older and telling us what was really going on in their post-formative teen years, I don't doubt that it DID become a drinking game, once the game was over and they no longer had their old man around.
Okay, the game is on. Which one of us could make it up and over the steep dirt pile first? Two talented riders or me?
Ross the Younger went first. Going at a very modest speed, employing skill and balance, he approached the dirt hill and went up and over like it was a small speed bump in the road. Not a wobble, no speeding and no drama.
Huh.
I thought this would be tougher than that.
Jim the Elder went second. Same thing. Up .... and over. Boom. Done. Actually a bit of a let down.
So, the guys turn to watch me, the hope of failure in their eyes. They know I lack skill, but frankly this tiny bump of dirt just wasn't what we thought it would be.
I start towards the hill, about the same speed as the first two riders. I hit the hill and stop dead. I don't remember if I fell over but if I did it probably looked like that guy on "Laugh In" on his trike. Thud ... plop.
Okay, obviously I just wasn't doing it right. How hard can this be?!?
I go back to GO and start over again, maybe a little faster because obviously that was the problem.
THUD ... PLOP.
What th'!!
It becomes obvious to all us guys that if the boys were older I'd be the one buying the beer. Manhood is at risk. My testosterone level falls. I'm going thud ... plop in front of my two teenage sons here! I'm the head of household!! YOU CAN'T SHOW WEAKNESS!
Speed is the answer. Why didn't I think of that before?? Everyone knows that if you lack skill you can make up for it by twisting the throttle a little bit more. Maybe a lot more.
Starting at GO, again, I hit the throttle hard enough to put at risk Don Garlits' drag racing trophies. No need to shift here, just focus on punching the wall of the Grand Canyon and it's up and over!
I made it half way.
I didn't go over, but I did go up.
As the front tire hit the wall of dirt it punched straight up into the air. This meant that the rear knobby tire slammed into the soft dirt, digging in just as I slid down the bike seat hanging on for dear life. By sliding down the seat I twist my throttle wrist and accidentally opening the throttle wide open.
I launch like the space shuttle.
I go up, and up, and up.....
Let's pause now for a view of these events from a different angle.
Right about now, Sue was walking out the back door of the house. She had been in the kitchen listening to dad play with the kids.
"Ross, that looked too easy"
"Jim, that looked way to easy"
"Okay, watch this (Vern), I'll bet more speed will do the trick!"
So Sue comes out to see her family playing together. It's a mother's moment. As she steps out the back door, and I am not making this up, she sees me launch ABOVE the roof of the shed behind the house and just keep going up, and up, and up ....
She's a little taken aback.
Actually so were the boys and that was getting harder to do.
I, on the other hand, am shooting up so high that the earth starts to pull away like you see on the NASA films.
NOW you can call me a rocket scientist.
It was like an out of body experience, looking down at the earth, except I was still in my body and, from my new heightened view, I realize that the dirt pile was surrounded by BIG rocks and boulders that had been dug out of the ground.
Ah ... nuts. Experience tells me that this is going to hurt.
It looks to me, from my vantage point, that I was going to hit one of the boulders when I returned from space, sans parachute. Survival instinct kicks in and I:
- Kick the bike away from me. I do NOT want that bike landing under or on me.
- Start to flap my arms in preparation for a landing.
Come to think of it, I actually am proud of my flapping arms, since it worked. Honest. I managed to maneuver between two big rocks and land on my back on the soft(er) dirt.
Whoomp!
I'm lying there on my back counting bones to make sure the count didn't end in an odd number when above me appears the face of an incredulous angel. It's my wife looking down on me (take that to mean whatever you wish) and she asks "Are you all right?!?!?".
I can't tell if she's concerned or angry, so I'm not sure how to respond. Testing the waters (after I got to an even 206 on the bone count) I said "I'm not sure". I WAS being honest with her. Sort of. This could go either way. I could have said sure, I'm fine, and she would have smacked the snot out of me. Or, I could have said I think I'm injured, and then I'd have to fake it for a few days.
It looked like she calmed down a little bit so I got up and just limped around a little to retest the spousal waters. Okay, the coast was clear.
Then the bad news DID hit me. I still hadn't made it up and over that dirt pile! Plus, I sort of bent the kids new dirt bike.
Not a good day for us rocket scientists.
I figured that riding a dirt bike was a little too risky for me, so I just stuck with my road bike.
There may be crazy car drivers out there on the road, but there are FAR fewer man eating boulders.
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