The Great Race

I cannot recall the exact year but I can remember what happened. It was a week after Christmas for sure because my brother and I had received brand new bikes. Mine was a maroon colored mongoose bike with black handlebars. As for my brother he received a dark blue mongoose. My brother and I were at my grandparent’s house, which is where we kept our bikes because at that time my mother was living in a tiny apartment so there was no room for them.

It was a bright, hot sunny day when my brother and I decided to go out and take our new bikes for a ride. These bikes were our first ones without training wheels. My dad had taught us how to ride them a week prior so my brother and I felt comfortable using the bike. My brother and I felt like big kids because we didn’t have to use the dreaded baby training wheels anymore. After a couple of drives around the block I decided to race my brother. As I was soon to realize a lot of negative things happen when I come up with ideas. My brother, a year younger than me, agreed to race. The rules were simple; the first one back to our grandparents’ house was the winner. If I can remember correctly, we were only about a hundred yards away from her house. My brother and I were lined up equally to an old beaten up trash can left on the road. We did the usual countdown 3,2,1 and GO! As we took off I remember going pretty fast, things in my peripheral vision quickly faded as I zoomed down the street. Being fairly new to two wheel driving my brother and I were not able to keep the bike going steadily straight. As we got closer to the house, I was able to see our father outside watching the “great race”. My brother and I were equally fast so we were going to tie the race, as I took a glance at him I noticed he was losing control. His bike ran right into me and we both flew off as if we jumped off a swing set. As I hit the pavement, a shot of pain rushed through out my body. Being young I began to cry. Crying seemed like the only thing that would stop the aching. I looked at my elbows and noticed they were covered in blood as were my knees. I looked at my brother who was a couple of feet away from me. He was out cold. My father who was luckily outside ran to him and I limped. As we approached him we saw a puddle of blood near his leg. My father slowly turned him over because he was faced down. What I saw would be burned in my mind forever. His leg was cut open from his knee to half of his leg. I saw a white surface which I was soon able to understand was his bone. My dad in shock called 911 and within ten minutes they were at the house. My brother had to receive twenty stitches. After we left the hospital my brother had to be on crutches for a couple of weeks while his leg recovered. He is fine now and his leg healed great.

This memory will be in my mind for the rest of my life because I feel that it’s my fault. If I would of never had asked to race I would of never had witnessed that horrific event. I also remember this because seeing my brother’s femur was the worst thing I had ever seen at that point.