Stuntman Training #1

After my last post about how my brothers and I wanted to be stuntmen when we were kids, I thought I would share one of our less than spectacular moments. While it was very true that we were very daring and willing to push the limits of safety and sanity, things did not always pan out the way they looked in our heads. In our heads, the stunts were fantastic and always without flaws.

There is only one reason I never attempted this.
We didn't have one!

Many of our stunts involved the use of bicycles. We never really got into the BMX freestyling that was becoming popular at the time, but we did like to jump things. It was because of this love for big air that I got to see a back flip for the first time.

In Waltonville, where we grew up, there is a street (Knob St.) that has been closed and re-opened at least a dozen times that I can remember. The street goes down Knob Hill, which is supposedly the highest point in the county, and the street is fairly steep.

One weekend, we were out on our bikes with some friends and noticed that Knob Street had been closed off again. Being the curious types, we went around the barriers and discovered that there was a large dirt pile in the middle of the road about halfway down the hill. This pile was about four feet tall with plenty of road left on the other side for an easy landing.

The side facing the top of the hill had a perfect smooth side that was destined for jumping. Since some thoughtful road crew person had taken the time to build this wonderful toy for us, it would have been rude to not take advantage of it.

I was the first to take a run at it. The steep grade of the hill made it very easy to gain speed quickly. Lined up for a beautiful shot, I rapidly approached the jump. As I neared the top, I noticed how drastic the drop off on the other side would be. I locked up the brakes and rode smoothly over the mound. Everyone ran up to see what the issue was. I showed them my concerns.

This type of landing is much more difficult.

I was not scared of heights or crashes (I had experienced enough of them), but realized we needed a strategy. The problem was the grade of the hill. Had this mound been on flat ground it would have a different dynamic to the jump. The landing area would have been at the same elevation as the jumping point. However, on a steep grade, much more speed is gained and as the jumper is going up through the air, the ground is dropping away at an alarming rate. We were not intimidated by this type of jump. After all, we had jumped our bikes off the neighbor's roof. You just want to know what you are getting into since the landing will be rougher.

While we were scanning the road for possible hazards (holes, unusual bumps, extra gravel, dead bodies from previous attempts, etc.), my younger brother Kyle, decides to just go for it. He yells from the top of the hill for everyone to clear out of the way. Knowing that he wouldn't warn us again, we scattered to the edges of the road.

These are not exactly built for leaving the ground.

As he comes flying down the hill, I mentally question why he didn't trade bikes with someone. Kyle was on a ten-speed. However, he did something I had never seen before and still have not seen done on a ten-speed.

Using my best guess, he approached the ramp at approximately the speed of sound and shot off into the sky with the gap between him and the ground growing at an exponential rate.

Kyle was very aware that the bike he was using was not ideal for jumping, so as he approached the top he pulled up hard on the handlebars to ensure he didn't land on his front wheel. It was immediately evident that he had overcompensated.

As he sailed past me, I could tell he was flipping backwards. Kyle, never wanting to be accused of not seeing something through to the end refused to leave the bike and stayed in the seat. It was an amazing thing to see as the bike and rider continued to spin until he was right side up again. It would have been more amazing had he landed at that point, but he didn't. He kept rotating until the tires were skyward again. That was when he met the pavement.

At his current velocity, he did not just land. He skidded. Much like a rock skipping across water, but without the skipping part. Toppling and rolling over his bike, taking hits from the pedals and going through the spokes, he came to a bloody, grinding stop. He made a generous skin contribution to the road commissioner that day. He wouldn't donate that much skin at one time again until he hits a dog 15 years later while riding his motorcycle.

We packed his wounds with dirt to stop the bleeding, pulled out the most mangled spokes and attempted to straighten the front wheel (unsuccessfully). We then drug him to the ditch to clear the road so we could try to do better than him. Because Kyle's left side bike was out of commission, he watched from the sidelines as we each took our turns on the now-acclaimed ramp of potential death. Since Kyle has demonstrated what not to do so successfully, our attempts were much more productive.

Once we all had our share of excitement, we decided to venture home. It then occurred to us that the sun was quickly setting, we were about 5 miles from home, short one bike and Kyle could barely move. It was going to be a looooong trek home.