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At 4:49 PM -0400 5/8/99, Jim Cobb wrote: >Fellow divers, read the chilling report and you tell me what you think... > > Jim > > ------------------------------------------------------------------- Jim, When I was about 7 years old, my brother, who was then 10 years old left the house one day to go trade a buddy of his a baseball mitt for a bike. Not just any bike, mind you, but a 5 Speed Stingray bike - probably the coolest thing around in 1965. We lived at 854 W. 17th Street in San Pedro, which was at the bottom of a huge hill, where 17th went all the way up. So here I am, all of 7 years old, waiting in the front yard for my big brother to come home with The Coolest Bike That Ever Was. Mom didn't want me going out with my brother on this particular trip (for reasons that will soon be obvious). But Mom decided to come out and wait with me for Duane (my brother) to come home anyway. Now, picture this: We're both looking up about 1/2 mile to the top of this monstrous hill that was 17th Street, and we see this teeny-tiny dot whizzing along over the crest. As it gets closer, we see that it is indeed my brother Duane, riding The Coolest Bike That Ever Was, and going amazingly fast. Within seconds, Duane is about half way down the hill, and looking like he's doing 70 miles per hour. As he gets about 4 blocks from our house, we notice that he's got this look of terror on his face, and his eyes are as big as dinner plates. Mom puts her arm around me and pulls me back from the sidewalk. Duane is doing about 115 miles an hour by now. As he passes us, we notice 3 things: 1) Duane is actually going about 200 miles an hour. 2) He is screaming. 3) The Coolest Bike That Ever Was doesn't have a seat, just a pole sticking out of the middle. 4) Duane is screaming something like "ohmygodIcan'tstop!!!aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!" We watch Duane pass us by, still screaming, his clothing being ripped off by the wind velocity. Eventually, just before he crosses over Cabrillo Ave into traffic, the single brain cell in Duane's head that is not actively involved in making him scream decides that enough is enough, and it's time to bail. Duane crashes the Coolest Bike That Ever Was into the ivy of the last house on the block. Duane goes one way, the bike goes into a telephone pole, and breaks into about 5 pieces. Mom and I start to run down the block, certain to find Duane dead. By the time we get down there, Duane is starting to wake up. After he wakes up, and Mom gets all the blood off of him, we find out that Duane decided to go ahead and RIDE the Coolest Bike That Ever Was DOWN 17th Street EVEN THOUGH HE KNEW IT HAD NO BRAKES AND NO SEAT. He figured that he'd "just use his feet" to stop - HOW he was going to accomplish that feat with no seat was something he didn't exactly think through... The bike is destroyed, he's got multiple cuts and lacerations all over, including some damage around his bung-hole that he won't talk about TO THIS VERY DAY from the seat-shaft, and he's now lost a perfectly good Sandy Koufax Signature Baseball Mitt. The point of this story (which, by the way, is entirely true except for the actual speeds he was travelling - to a 7 year old, he sure looked like he was going 200...), is that some people seem destined to take themselves out of the gene pool for whatever reason. Duane, by the way, was fortunate enough to survive his childhood, and is now a Cop in Texas. I won't comment on the relative intelligence necessary for his chosen profession... ; -) The diver you mentioned in your post is also fortunate enough to still be with us. You or anyone else could no more have prevented what happened to that particular diver than I could have convinced Duane that riding a bike with no seat and no brakes down a giant 1/2 mile hill was a really, really dumb idea. As for me, I learned a valuable lesson too: Sometimes it's best to stand away from the sidewalk and just watch the accident happen - it can sometimes make for great material later in life... ; -) Kevin.
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