Everything Changes

I don’t suppose anyone can be expected to expect the unexpected.
Isn’t that why it’s called the unexpected?
I mean, everything changes right?
For some reason I recalled an incident, out of the many from my childhood, that proved this statement valid.
A few miles from my home there was an industrial park that always had some construction going on one of the lots. A necessary part of the construction process was moving excess dirt off of the site being prepared for any new building. There was one particular lot that, for whatever reason, was used as the dirt dumping ground. As the weather imposed itself on the dirt on this lot it was slowly transformed into a very hilly landscape. There were hills of a variety of sizes here from small bumps to the “main hill” as my friends and I used to call it.
The Main Hill was apparently the first load of dirt that was dumped on this lot. It was located fairly close to the center of the property and it was by far the highest hill there. Without diluting my memory of its size I would say its peak was probably about 30 feet high, which to a grade school kid is relatively high. The Main Hill had uniform slopes on all sides of about 40 degrees.
The thing about this park and this lot in particular was that it was on the route that we took almost every Saturday to get to our favorite candy store. It was the late ‘60’s and my allowance of .50 cents could buy a whole bag of assorted candy back then. I can still remember how mortified I was when they raised the price of my favorite candy bar, the Big Hunk, from a nickel to ten cents. They almost boosted it right out of my price range. I had to ask for a raise in my allowance. The cost of living affected even me. In addition to candy we would also get a canned drink called “Apple Beer”. It was basically carbonated apple juice, but when you poured it into a glass it looked like beer and formed a head like beer. We would slam a can down and have belching contests afterward. It made us feel manly.
Anyway, the usual routine that developed once Main Hill was created was to ride our bikes through this lot on the way to the candy store and ride over the hills. We would go over the smaller hills first and then launch our mobile assault on Main Hill once we worked up enough speed. We would pedal as fast as possible up one side and keep pedaling over the top and all the way down the other side. The speed was wonderfully exhilarating. Coming down the other side at full speed was kind of scary, because you knew if you had to stop for anything you simply could not. It was a great feeling.
One Saturday we were on our way to the candy store, and we approached the hill lot from the far end like we always did. I was in the lead. I had the biggest bike that my Grandma had bought for me used. I was the biggest kid and could always get the highest speeds. I hit the trail for the Main Hill going as fast as I could. We had been doing this for months. It was always the same. I built up speed and went up one side and down the other. This was always how it happened. Unfortunately I had never heard the phrase, “everything changes” at this point in my young life. It never occurred to me, or any of my friends for that matter, that anything could be different about this day.
I approached Main Hill going as fast as I could go. My friend Pete was about 15 feet behind me and Ron was right behind him. Over the top I went, and like always my tires left the ground for the briefest of moments, the wind whistled through my crew cut. It was here that I discovered a new facet of the construction process that I had heretofore no reason to believe existed.
When a new building is being constructed the ground is made level to accommodate an even surface on which the building is meant to stand. Usually, this requires excess dirt to be removed. What I had failed to realize was that sometimes dirt needs to be added to fill in existing holes. This in turn requires that the dirt has to be retrieved from somewhere. The lot on which we found ourselves playing daredevil happened to be “dirt source”. I found that no matter how much grass is growing on a hill, and no matter how well packed the dirt is, it can’t stand up to a bulldozer. I also discovered that Main Hill, being the largest hill on the lot, was also the most obvious source to go to for dirt.
We always approached Main Hill from the same side. Looking at it from our regular approach I could see no difference.
It wasn’t until I crested the hill that I saw that Main Hill was now only half the hill it used to be. It was simply gone!
A bulldozer had come in during the week and stolen the other half of Main Hill!
Worse yet was the fact that not only could I do nothing about it, but I didn’t even have time to express my outrage before I became completely and totally airborne! I let out a wordless scream as my tires left terra firma for the great unknown. I suppose I should clarify that the unknown did not refer to where I was going since the spot where I was going was rapidly filling my field of vision as I unwittingly flew down toward it. No, the unknown in this case was what my condition would be once I physically found that newly ploughed piece of earth with the combined mass of my bike and my body.
I ran across a quote once by Douglas Adams that says “The art of flying is to throw your self at the ground and miss.”
I can honestly say by this definition I failed utterly. I hit the ground with almost wild, yet reluctant, enthusiasm. I have vague memories of multiple impacts. The front tire of my bike hit first, and after that all I really remember is being tangled up in my bike frame as I tumbled over and over. I finally came to rest lying on my back. My leg had somehow worked itself between the spokes of the front wheel. The wheel was completely bent out of shape and the tire was flat. I looked up at the cliff that marked what was left of this side of Main Hill and saw that Pete and Ron had had enough time to stop the only way they could by basically dumping their bikes off to the side of the path at the top. They were lying on the ground looking down at me.
“Are you ok?!” yelled Ron.
“I’m not sure.” I said. I took a quick inventory of myself and found that I didn’t feel any serious pain. “I think I’m ok, but I’m stuck!”
My bike was lying on top of me and with my leg sticking through the spokes movement was not easy. Ron and Pete came down as fast as they could. I waited until they got there before I tried to move. I just laid there on my back contemplating the clouds drifting across the sky, and life in general. It was one of the few genuinely philosophical moments of my childhood. When your life passes before your eyes how does God make it so you actually see your whole life in a split second? Does it take longer when you get older, or is it always the same length of time? I’m gonna ask Him when I get to heaven.
Pete and Ron got there and helped extract me from the tangle of my bike. The spokes of the ruined front wheel were spread apart so I could pull my leg out. It was sore but still functional. Nothing broken. Lots of bruises were starting to form, though, and there were several areas on my body where swelling would be evident in the near future.
The guys sat down and just stared at me.
“Are you really ok?” asked Pete.
“Yeah.” I said.
“Man! You should have seen yourself! You just flew right out into the air! We heard you yell and had just enough time to stop before we went over too!” said Ron.
“Hey, look at your leg!” said Pete.
We looked down at my leg to see the imprint of the spokes very clearly impressed onto my calf. It would serve as my temporary badge of honor for surviving the ordeal.
We walked the rest of the way to the candy store. I wasn’t seriously bleeding and no bones were broken so there was never a thought in any of our minds that we should go immediately home. Nothing short of death would have kept us from our candy and Apple Beer. We ate our candy and drank our Apple Beer and belched. It had never felt better than it did that day.
When I got home with my damaged bike and told my mom what had happened (while wearing a carefully rehearsed stunned look on my face and with appropriate exclamatory embellishments from Pete and Ron), she was concerned enough to make me sit down and make sure there was indeed nothing broken. She brought us all milk and cookies which, was the ultimate cure all for me, and life was good again.
After my dad fixed my bike (I think even he was impressed with my survival after he saw the damage) we went back to the Hill. Another big chunk had been taken out. We could no longer attack the heights there, an activity which I was secretly happy to give up. We had to content ourselves with all the smaller hills. Whenever I get on a rollercoaster now I still feel a twinge when it goes over the hump that makes me feel weightless. I’m just never quite sure if I’m gonna miss the ground this time or not. Of course that doesn’t keep me off the roller coasters.
But because of that I discovered that, even though I may not have realized the full implications of this at the time, everything does indeed change. I also discovered that we are amazingly adaptable creations. And though we do not care for the change that may occur, we make our choices as to how we go on. But we do go on one way or another. I would have preferred that they had added dirt to the top of Main Hill rather than taking it away, but I survived and that is how I measured success in those days. Back then survival was all I needed to be concerned about. I could sit in the back seat and let my parents drive never having to worry about the idiot who cut me off. My responsibilities were limited. So nowadays when I remember the Charge of Main Hill, it is still a good memory despite the pain.
Heck, I’m just glad I survived my childhood.
©Dan Bode 2003