The Bicycle gods were smiling on me...
Thought I didn't have an answer to this, cus I am so gruff and far too manly to be scared by anything much. But upon reading the rest of the posts I realised that bike and car stories count, and this reminded me of something.

I used to live in Greenwich, at the top of the hill next to the park. My girlfriend was living just off the high street in the centre of town.

To make the commute between each others places (and to pretend we did something in the way of exercise more than rut and watch TV) we had recently acquired some cheap, nasty mountain bikes from Decathlon and I thought I would see how quickly I could get to my beloved's flat.

So about three minutes into the ride I hit that big hill bit that gets you to the big long flat bit that you follow straight across the park into the town bit.

Now, considering myself to be more of a daredevil than I actually am, I thought I would go down the hill a bit fast. This wonderful idea lasted about three seconds when my idea of 'a bit fast' was breached and replaced with, 'no no Mr Miserable, this is too fast. You might die'. So I started pumping the brakes like you're meant to do to slow down without skidding and dying.

What I did not take into account was the little wooden ridged steps that are in this part of the path, for some unknown reason. And everytime I pumped the breaks, I was either slightly in the air from one of these steps, or about to be launched into the air from one of these steps. The result being that when my wheels found the ground again after each said airborn moment, the brakes were applied and the rear wheel started fish tailing wildly, accompanied by my teeth grinding a little harder and my eyes going a little wider. For some unknown reason I continued this tactic for about half the hill. Not oblivious to the fact that I was actually getting much much faster.

After a few near death experiences I finally realised that I was doing more harm than good.

At this stage, the fear of falling off and hurting myself was replaced with the fear that my £50 bike could not handle speeds like this and would literally shake itself apart and leave me sliding along the (still ridged path) using my face as brakes.

My fear reached a crescendo when rationality took over. You are going to crash and hurt yourself. It is inevitable. So I just gave into it, leant into the wind and embraced my now ridiculous speed and painful fate. I reached the bottom of the hill in one piece, still attached to my bike (and limbs and teeth)
I literally screamed across the flat bit. I must have been nothing more than a blur to the rest of the parks patrons.

I didn't crash, but I was at my GF's flat about 17 seconds later. Visibly shaken, visibly shaking. Made damned good time and have not gotten on that f*cking bike since.

Its been four years.
(lessmiserable, Mon 26 Feb 2007, 12:28, Reply)