Have you ever been flying? Well I have!
And not just in airliners; I’ve had an adventure or two while taking flying lessons in a small plane a while back (see Fear of Flying). Besides, that’s not that big a deal, right? Lots of folks have floated above ol’ Terra Firma in everything from hot air balloons to spacecraft
But I’m not talking about flying in an airplane - or actually, a flying machine of any kind. No, I actually learned to fly ‘waaaay sooner than that! In fact, I was still just a kid.
The Summer
To be honest, I really can’t remember how old I was at the time; seems like I must have been somewhere around 10 or 11; maybe as old as 12. Back then, we lived in the town of Bellaire, one of the many small cities that exist like a seed within an orange, completely inside the boundaries of the huge city of Houston, Texas.
Anyway, this was during the summer, when kids of all ages spend their summer vacations just doin’… well, in my case, a whole lotta nuthin’. But it was a fun lotta nuthin’, that’s for sure, especially with the herd of boys I ran around with.
Lessee now… what did we do, anyway? Well, we hung out in the big, empty, corner lot down the street, where, among other things, we built several big wooden platforms high up in the boughs of the largest trees. (Mine was always the highest one because at the time I was the ‘lightest’ kid. Not necessarily the smallest one; just think: very, very thin.)
We also discovered how to make and use an old-world sling (slingshot) like David (of David and Goliath fame). I’m tellin’ ya; it was astonishing how far a rock would go with one of those things! One kid accidentally (no, really!) knocked out a school window over a hundred yards away. Who knew it would go that far! (He ‘fessed up, though. It was one of those times when, even though it got him into trouble, the truth was so spectacular he had to tell it.)
Oh, and I’ll never forget an afternoon spent playing “base-bee”. It’s sorta like baseball, except… well, here’s how it worked. You find a big, blooming wisteria bush and position yourself about 30 feet away. Then you entice bumblebees to fly at you by throwing big rocks into the bush. A bee would note the direction the rock came from (how they did that was anybody’s guess) and immediately come flyin’ out, right towards you. Meantime, you’re holding a board (sorta like a cricket bat), and, at the last minute, you neatly sidestep the oncoming bee and whap! The poor hapless bee would go flyin’ away like a home run knocked outta the park! (Oh, did I mention I was both young – and stupid?)
And then there was the aforementioned Day I Went Flying.
The Hill
One of our favorite activities (when we got tired of doing the above) was go exploring on our bicycles. Hey, if I could add it up now, I bet we rode our bikes for thousands of miles! Seriously. So when the mood struck us, we’d travel far and wide without hesitation – or at least as far and wide as a pre-teen kid could, anyway.
Now, this was back in the days when Houston was building some of the first major freeways around town, including what is now the Loop 610 and I- 59 intersection. (It’s one of the busiest freeway interchanges in Houston these days, but I was there when it was first bein’ built.)
Naturally, in order to build the overpasses necessary for such a major interchange, they needed lots of, well, giant piles of dirt. And, as we all know, giant piles of dirt – hills, really – had the power to attract small boys with about the same inevitability with which Anakin Skywalker was attracted to the Dark Side.
Anyhoo, on this particular day, the most enterprising of our number expressed the following thought out loud: “Gee, I wonder how fast you would go if you rode a bicycle down the side of one of those hills? Wow, it would be kinda like riding down the Hill of Doom!”
Instantly, the whole herd of us became embroiled in a lively debate on the relative merits of such a stupendous idea. The phrase, “Wow, that would be fantastic!” was heard, along with various other, less enthusiastic responses, such as “You’d be goin’ a million miles an hour at least!”, “I don’t think it would work,” or “You wouldn’t get me to do it!”
By the time the dust settled, though, I think the general consensus settled into something along the lines of, “You’d probably kill yourself, you idiot!”
The Dare
As you know, in any random group of folks there’s bound to be someone who fits the category of “will do anything on a dare”, right? Alas, it’s also true that groups of kids tend to have a somewhat larger than average share of ‘em. (Probably because they haven’t lived long enough to fear spending the rest of their days in a wheelchair.)
So, as we looked around at each other, wonderin’ who would be the first to actually do it, our eyes turned towards the oldest one of us to blaze the trail. (I had secretly sworn to myself that it would most certainly not be me!) You had to admire him, though; pushed into a corner and realizing the inevitability of the situation, he bravely accepted the challenge – if not wholeheartedly, then at least willingly. (Besides, there’s no pressure like peer pressure, is there?)
The rest of us arrayed ourselves at the bottom, each silently making bets as to whether or not he’d survive the ordeal. We watched as he laboriously climbed up the hill, pushing his bicycle all the way. (Have you ever tried to walk up one of those things? They’re really steep!) Finally, he reached the top. He took a few minutes to regain his breath, then settled himself firmly onto the seat. Time seemed to stand still as he stood poised at the brink of the precipice. We held our collective breath as he leaned forward…
It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen in my entire young life!
The Plunge
He quickly gathered speed – literally flying down the hill like a lightning bolt and hangin’ on for dear life. I don’t remember if he screamed or not (he was probably too terrified to do anything but hold on), but I can tell you for sure the rest of us were enthusiastically shouting for all we were worth!
After zinging by us like a rocket sled on steroids, he finally managed to slow down and turn around. Pedaling back our way, he took a well-deserved victory turn around our little band of brothers like the champion he was that day. It was stupendous! It was amazing! I’m tellin’ ya; it was the best day ever!
Once the celebration died down, though, the discussion got down to who was going to be next. Some kids absolutely refused to do it at all. But for some strange reason, I found myself volunteering for the job. I truly don’t exactly know why I decided to try it (believe me when I tell you I wasn’t the most daring of souls – then or now), but I soon found myself up there at the top of the hill.
It’s amazing how looking up a certain distance never seems as far as looking down the same distance. Although it didn’t seem quite so far when I was at the bottom of the hill, the view from up at the top looked like it was about a million miles down. From this height I could see all my friends arrayed like little ants – no, wait; those were ants – but my friends appeared really, really small as well.
Yeesh, what had I gotten myself into? I mentally promised never to volunteer for anything, ever again. (Who knows, maybe that’s why I never joined the Army.)
The Choice
Standing up there, facing impending doom and practically certain I was about to breathe my last, I realized there were only three – no, only four possible outcomes.
- I could choose NOT to do it. Yep; I could have just said the heck with it (when I was a kid, heck was the absolute worst word I could think to use in these situations) and walked back down the hill, to the inevitable catcalls and razzing of the other boys – from then until the end of time. It was a tough choice; on the one hand, I’d probably never live the ignoble episode down. On the other hand, at least I’d be, y’know, alive.
- I could ride down the hill, killing myself in the process. Yeah, it was pretty easy to imagine all sorts of dire things happening on my way down the mountain: the wheel could fall off, my seat could come loose, I could get a foot caught in the chain… with the inevitable result: I’d tumble off the bicycle and roll endlessly downhill, to wind up a horribly mangled pile of pulp. (Imagination is easy to a kid, you know.) Oh, well, at least they would be able to talk about how brave I was there at the funeral. Small consolation, that.
- I could ride down the hill and live to tell the tale. Way down there near the bottom of my mental list of possible – no, better make that probable – outcomes, there was the slightest chance I could actually do this thing. I’ll tell ya; I had to squint pretty hard to see it, but there it was. I knew if I could do this, I’d really have something to talk about among my peers. I could visualize myself, a giant among men (or at least, boys), one who could always point to this incident and say, “No, I’m not going to wrestle that giant man-eating cobra, saving that gorgeous babe in the process and earning her everlasting appreciation – but at least I rode down that hill on my bicycle back when we were kids!” To which they would always have to shuffle their feet in remembered shame because they, y’know, didn’t.
- I could be killed by a falling meteor. I know, I know. Besides, even a billion-to-one chance was at least a chance, right? At least I’d go out in a blaze of glory.
Anyway, since I obviously lived to relate this sordid tale, then neither #2 or #4 happened. So which option did I choose, you ask? Well, it’s like this…
The Flight
Yessir, ladies and gentlemen, I actually did muster up what little courage I had and (sound of terrified scream) down the hill I went! I must’ve broken the sound barrier within moments, the wind howling so loud past my ears I couldn’t hear a thing. The pedals spun around so fast they became invisible, and I had to just lift my feet up, gripping the bicycle with only my hands and my, er, butt cheeks. (You’d be surprised how effective that can be – particularly when your butt’s continued existence depended upon it!)
I was at the bottom within a matter of seconds (perhaps six, or maybe seven at most), and microseconds before I got there, I realized something important. The one thing I hadn’t thought about was that sudden transition from down to horizontal. It looked… well, kinda abrupt, if you get my meanin’. I mean, there were probably a few places I could have selected that had a somewhat smoother curve to ‘em, but if so, well, the spot I was gonna hit wasn’t one of ‘em!
No, in my case the bicycle (and, of course, me too) changed direction so fast it compressed my whole body down onto the bicycle seat far enough to flatten the seat’s springs. (Good thing it had a thick metal plate in it; things might’ve been pretty unpleasant otherwise!)
Now, you’re probably familiar enough with the expression, “what goes up, must come down”, right? Well, my friends; I can tell you – and from personal experience, yet – the opposite is also true: “what goes down, must come up”!
Yep; when all that downward energy was released, it literally catapulted my body upward in such a way that I suddenly became airborne! Luckily (and probably the only reason I’m still able to talk about it today), I barely – just barely, mind you – managed to hang onto the handlebars.
The surprising result was that, instead of completely wiping out, for a spectacular few seconds I executed a rather incredible handstand over the handlebars as I zinged past my stunned audience. Then, in a Grand Finale performance worthy of Cirque du Soleil, my butt neatly plopped right back down on the bicycle seat! It happened so quickly – and smoothly – it was as if I’d planned the whole thing all along. I’ll tell ya; there’s no doubt in my mind my Guardian Angel was workin’ overtime that day!
Folks, that was one of the most frightening – and exhilarating – events of my life (and that includes the time I accidentally answered a, uh, former girlfriend’s question, “Do these pants make me look fat?”) I’m almost sure my heart stopped beating as soon as I left the top of the hill. I’m positive I didn’t take another breath until I was able to start braking down to a speed that was something less than insane.
The Challenge
So what does careening uncontrollably down the Hill of Doom on a bicycle – nearly meeting my Maker in the process – have to do with life, anyway? Well, it’s sorta like this.
There’s no doubt about it, y’all. These days, folks all over are facing things they’ve never had to face before. It’s like they’re tearing along in one direction, then – maybe even through no plan or fault of their own – they suddenly changed direction and found themselves launched headlong into space! What’s more, they’re so busy lookin’ for a soft place to land, they haven’t even got time to figure out what to do.
I’ll tell ya, friends; I’ve been there more times than I want to remember!
So here’s your Questions for the Day:
What do you do when you inadvertently go flyin’ into the wild blue yonder? What can you do? How do you handle it when something comes along that literally takes the planet right out from under you? Can you truly prepare for the unknowable?
C’mon, what do you think?
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Photo: untitled, by Jon Hanson
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Have you ever done something so dumb, you felt like this poor fellah here? Y’know; “nobody home”?
Hey, if you’re a regular reader of the Middle Zone, I have a favor to ask of ya. Heck; even if you’re NOT a regular reader (and I promise – I won’t go there!) I’ll ask the same favor of you, too.
, you’ll have to register to cast a vote. (It’s totally free, so please do so). Click on the word “Register” and it’ll walk you through it.
OK, now see the page bar over on the right there? Like I said, there’s 14 pages of entries. Mine is on page 14, so click on “Last” and you’ll go straight there. (They’re in chronological order of entry; I submitted mine on the first day.)
Now, to cast your vote, look for that “Rating” tab just above the story. Simply click on the little white triangle and a drop-down menu appears. Click the radio button for the number of stars you’d like to give – 5 is best, 1 is, um, not. (Don’t worry; I won’t try to tell you how many stars I think it’s worth!)
Of course, if you’re interested, feel free to read and vote on as many as you like. But I’m warnin’ ya now, make sure you have plenty of coffee or tea on hand; at about 10-15 minutes per story, you should be able to read all 283 of ‘em in about 5 hours or so!
Last week I spent a few days (on business) in the tiny Western U.S. town of Vernal, Utah.
I’ll tell ya; in my extensive travels, I’ve visited quite a few small towns across the United States (and a few in other parts of the world, too, for that matter), and the truth is, every one of ‘em has its own flavor. That’s because there are remarkably individualistic souls all over this world, y’know?
I always prided myself in being an excellent listener. In fact, many people have complimented me on my listening skills. In meetings I would hear things that most people missed because they were all competing to take the stage. One day, six years ago, in January 2003, I learned that I could be a much better listener.
Middle Zone Musings is a comfortable place to stop, have a cup of coffee, swap a few stories and share practical ideas for the real world. I don't ask for much, just a bit of your brain every now and then. Have a seat, take a load off, and relax...
