Hey, @galenkp.

I feel like I've shared these before, but now I'm not sure. I'll relate one.

Growing up, bikes and I had love hate relationships. I use the term plural, though I'm pretty sure I only had one for most of my preteen years. The plural comes in because I borrowed a friend's bike for one of my escapades.

The same bike that managed to save me from bullies (or was it the narrow winding trails through a large thicket that did it?), just wasn't great at Evil Kneivel-ing it over ramps.

My mother, knowing my propensity to make such attempts, wisely told me I couldn't use my bike to jump over a pretty nifty homemade ramp the neighbor kids were using practically in front of my house.

Undaunted, but wanting to obey, I borrowed said friend's bike. This is where taking things literally comes in handy, except when it leads to failure. Then it still hurts.

Much like the bike you described, this friend's bike had a banana seat and the long Harley-like handle bars in front. I'd never ridden it before, much less over a ramp, so didn't know there might be a difference, or what extra dangers might be lurking to befall me.

With high anticipation, I waited my turn. When it came, glory of my record setting jump had already replayed in my head a dozen times (what is it about youth and adoring fans—in your mind?). I pumped the pedals as fast as I could, hit the ramp at near breakneck speed, and over the ramp I went.

This is where everything goes terribly wrong. Up until this moment, it was as if I had already reached heroic status. In my head. After this moment. Well, I don't actually remember much.

In fact, I rely on third party witnesses to tell the rest of the tale.

The last thing I do remember is hovering just a few inches above the payment. I got to that point because I failed to bring up the front tire even a little bit. When it touched, my body was thrown forward and the handle bars basically gave way.

Smack.

Faceplant.

My mother, who happened to look out the kitchen window just at that moment saw me hit and then skid across the road to the opposite curb. As I said, I don't remember any of this. When she got to me, I was groggy, but able to stand, and she walked me to the car to take me to the doctor. She needed her purse and her keys, so she went back into the house to get them. When she got to the front door, I was standing there.

The next thing I do remember is coming to in the doctor's office, sitting by myself, after the consultation. I think I was diagnosed with a mild concussion.

To my recollection, I never went over another ramp after that. :)