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Could be Worse! Could be Raining!
Part 1
Castle Young Frankenstein

I cannot say for sure when I experienced my first misadventure. I am talking about my first misadventure out in the big world alone, without the help of my parents. Surely I was a teenager.
I do remember going for a bike ride with my best friend. In all of my stories I have changed the names of the characters. I wouldn't want to embarrass my friends. We will call her Kate. Kate lived in a big, modern house in an urbanization in the country. Nice houses. I would be there a lot and one particular day we decided to ride bikes.
Having no bike of my own there, I used one of hers. Kate and I grew up near the farmlands of Illinois, just outside of Chicago. We were definitely city girls. If you know this area, you will know the land is flat, hence the term the “Great Plains.”
I myself have never understood what was so great about them. Here, there are no mountains. And barely any hills, or any rise of the surface of any sort. There was a mound, though, called Johnson's mound.
This is the setting of this misadventure. We rode up the mound successfully, even though my bike was a bit tattered and rusty. I do not recall that it had any more than three gears. The chain was clunky and fussy.
Did I already mention the bike was too big for me? This wouldn't be hard to imagine. After growing to five feet tall in my junior year at high school, that would be where I topped off.
Rainy Day Story
Photo Courtesy of Sarabbit
This was the summer before my junior year so I must have been in that range.
Anyway, the bike was too big for me. On the way down the mound, though it was only a mound the road was steep, I saw a big dirt patch spanning across the road and hit it with great speed.
I should know how this works, because I used to hit them all the time on my skateboard. Nevertheless, I wasn't expecting to stop with such a sudden halt. But that is what happened, and it launched me over the bike.
I would still have the scar on my elbow if it hadn't been shredded off during another bike incident some twenty years later on a mountain bike spill. Ooze and blood dripped from my wound, but I could still move my elbow.

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