There was Blood

I am not the biggest risk taker, but have crazy stunts on my resume. Mostly unintentional. First time I got called Evil Knievel I was 3 or 4. We lived in Upton, WY, a small town a long way from no where. I had gotten my first trike, and it was a little too big for me, I couldn't reach the pedals. But I could sit on it and get around, coast or push with my feet. I learned that I couldn't go very far in the grass, so I was staying on the sidewalk, which slowly started to slope down hill. I accelerated, feet held up, tightly gripping the handlebar, right down the cement stairs, across the sidewalk and into the ditch! My parents came running, drawn by my bawling, I suppose, to find me crawling up those same stairs, pools of blood collecting on each step. I think the trike survived, and I lived to ride another day.

Not the first time I bled from my head in Upton. The Trombone incident... the vicious coffee table...

But the best scar I have from my years in Upton is on my foot. Riding in the baby seat on the back of my mom's bike... this is back in the day before they were made of a single molded piece of plastic... with padded cardboard leg panels... one of which had been stolen from the bike rack at the high school where my dad taught. Anyway, we headed down the long hill towards downtown, and despite being told to be careful, I clamp my legs together to hold on, unfortunately the action put the back of my foot into the razor sharp spokes which pealed off the back of my shoe and cleaved my left heal off! Ouch!! Another 90 minute race to the hospital. (I wonder how we paid for all my trips there?) Ask to see the scar, it is probably what kept me from being a professional athlete or ...