1973 13 years old, new Peugeot UO-8, sunny spring day. No helmets, no responsibility, not a care in the world. Parochial school was not on my agenda. Nope. Mom, my stomach hurts. Think I'm getting what Sara (little sister) had. It works. Sibs go to school, parents to work. Watch Gilligans Island, probably the Brady Bunch too. Go for a nice ride all around Albany, NY (I lived on the outskirts of the city). Lunch stop at Neba Roast Beef for 3 orders of "potato nuggets" and a Coke. Ride around some more. Stop at the "Down Tube" cycle shop and hang for awhile. Lost track of time. Oh Sh#%t - Sisters will be coming home soon. Oh Sh#%t - They'll definately rat on me. I'm peddeling like there's no tomorrow. Actually pass a bus from my school. Next block 4 friends from my grade/class are walking up their street. They see me, big smiles on their faces knowing I pulled another stunt. As I look to them and wave, with a big stupid, proud grin...... ......POW, BANG, BOOM - I ride right into the back of a Plymouth Belvedere parked on New Scotland Ave. I hit the car's roof, then hood, then pavement with a sumbersault or two, finally stopping laying flat on my back. Friends came running, I'm not hurt physically - a miracle. Pride is shot. I know I'll never live this down. Front fork and rim is bent like a bad pretzel, but down tube is fine (man that was a sturdy bike) I limp home, broken bike and all. Sibs are home, Mom is home - tells me to wait in my room for dad. Grounded for a month - no bike riding, not even on my old Rudge 3spd - very, very painful Friends - well, I still keep in touch with one of them and to this day they still laugh at me over that experience.