As mentioned in a previous post...
i used to live in a sleepy village when I lived with my family. My friends were all from the next town, so I always had to walk / cycle 2-3 miles through the countryside on an old railway embankment, before my friday and saturday nights could kick off. So far, so interesting... Anyway, after one particularly heavy night of booze and drugs (don't mix them, kids); I was going along this track in the dark at about 3am, and my pedals just locked suddenly - sending me flying over the handlebars, and landing in a heap. Once i'd got over the pain and sworn at it a few times, I clambered back onto my bike. Almost immediately, the same thing happened again! This time i'd had enough, lifted the bike over my head, and with a mighty "RAAAAaaaaarrrrrr!" threw it over the side of the embankment, and down into the surrounding fields several metres below.

I still had to get home, so I dusted my hands, probably did a little cackle, and staggered off. A good walk later, I convinced myself I was going in the wrong direction (it was very dark out there), and turned around... A very long walk later and I found myself back at the familiar lights of the town (i'd been going the right way before). Eventually made it home, the whole trip took more than two hours in the end.

I woke up the next morning with a cracker of a hangover, when I remembered my bike. Now apart from the fact it chucked you over the handlebars, it was a pretty good machine and was worth a bit of money. Unfortunately, even with the aid of my trusty dog, it couldn't be found; probably picked up by a tramp, a farmer, or as I like to believe, a small troupe of foxes.
(jnewco81, Sun 23 Dec 2007, 20:22, Reply)