It was the last day of 8th grade, in the dawn of time. My buddy and I were riding our bikes, as usual. The long downhill was tailor-made for no-hands riding, with a gentle curve near the bottom. So we did. And I looked back at him while gracefully rounding the curve. And I looked forward just in time to see the incredibly rapid approach of the parked Chevrolet. I went up the trunk, broke a tooth, and slid back down. Didn't make it to class that day, but not much was accomplished on the last day, anyhow. The tooth? Never did get it capped, the mate wore down to the same level. The moral? See subject line.