Obsessed with cycling really fast, I headed out to the street with my barebones bicycle. The ground was soaking wet as it had only rained heavily a few minutes ago on this warm 2004 tropical afternoon. First I cycled to the closest junction of the straight street where my house was placed. I then tried a few trial runs to get used to the bike, as well as to warm up.
Once everything was okay, I set off. I cycled once again to that same junction. Traffic was in the back of my mind as I was in a suburban area. I looked down that narrow, yet wide street for one last time.
3...
2...
1...
I let loose all of my power down to the pedals of that single-geared bicycle. Everything became a blur in seconds. The street was rough and slightly uneven, but I'd been cycling on it for years, and thus have adapted to this kind of condition. The rush of adrenaline filled my body and I felt the thrill of what was, at the time, 'me travelling at the speed of sound'. Metres went by very quickly, and I soon reached that coconut tree in front of my childhood home.
Suddenly, I felt a sense weightlessness. The whole world around me began to spin. The uneven concrete street was the last thing I saw before I was involuntarily forced to face up towards the grey sky, where I saw my chrome bicycle coming towards me. With me stuck underneath my bicycle, I slid on the rough ground for a few meters before coming to a stop at the front gate of my house. Pain soon followed a few seconds afterwards. The palm of my hands were bloodied, knees bruised and dirty. One of my legs, bruised all over and covered in a lot of blood and dirt, plus a few leaves here and there.
The body of the 6-year-old me lied there in the middle of the street tangled in his own bicycle, pain and regret until rescue came in the form of an angry mother, half a minute later.