The year was 1973. A freckle-faced girl of 15 with a head full of dreams. The plan was to meet a girl friend for a day of fun. Since I couldn't convince my Mom to let me drive the Oldsmobile 98 without my learner's permit, I'd have to mobilize myself. I headed out the door and grabbed my brand new lemon yellow Schwinn Varsity and rode off in the direction of downtown Salem, Oregon.
This beautiful big 25" bike was my pride and joy, especially since I had worked the entire summer at my sister and brother-in-law's gas station, pumping gas, to earn the money to buy it. All the hoots, wolf whistles, and horn blasts I had to endure while blissfully 'servicing' the local boys and their hot rods, knowing full well that at the end of the summer I'd be $100 richer and able to purchase my own set of wheels (albeit, the skinny 'one-and-a-half-inch' variety).
Well, I was never one to go anywhere or do anything slowly or cautiously, and this fine Saturday morning was no exception. I shifted into high gear and maneuvered the Citron Steed through the intersection at the end of my street. No one coming, so I punched it and started the rapid descent down the big hill. 10.....15......20 miles per hour. I would soon reach terminal velocity, but was distressed about my right toe clip not fitting properly over my size 10 Scholl's Exercise Sandal (the BEST for cycling!). I looked down to see why it was hung up and at the same time, reached down to correct the problem.
As I was looking so intently at the toe clip, and whizzing so briskly down the long hill, I failed to look up to see the curb directly in front of me. I had drifted ever so slightly to my right and steered my bicycle directly into the curb at 25 miles per hour.
The height! The trajectory! The 'style points' ! The landing.
After ten minutes of watching little blue birds tweet merrily around my head, I regained consciousness and realized that NO ONE had even witnessed my amazing aerial display of athleticism. And at six feet tall, it was a mighty impressive display!
Fortunately, only a little skin remained behind and I gingerly mounted my Schwinn and slowly rode into town. The one thing I never could figure out was why the wheel wasn't even fazed by the impact.
They sure don't make 'em like they used to!