A Scrape at the Rock Piles

One summer when Harry and I were around 13 or 14 (it was around the same time as our subterranean exploration) we were riding our bikes around the rock piles behind my house. There were some younger kids (probably around 9-12 years old) also playing at the rock piles. I remember they climbed to the top of one of the piles and started yelling at us, calling us names, trying to pick a fight.

So after a bit we climbed the pile they were on and stood next to them. We didn't fight, we just talked really mean. But that was enough to scare them pretty good. They ran off saying they were going to get their big brothers. Whatever.

A little while later we were still riding our bikes around the rock piles and the kids came back. This time they had their big brothers! They called out to us, so we stopped riding and were now sitting on our bikes. The group walked up to us and one of the older (a couple of years older than me and Harry) brothers asked if we were picking on their little brothers. We explained what happened, but they didn't like that answer. The threats started flying and the tension was buiding.

They started to surround me and Harry (still sitting on our bikes). I looked towards the road that ran beside the rock piles and beside my house and was doing some quick calculations in my mind. Just when I thought getting physical was inevitable, I hopped up onto my seat, peeled out, and pedaled as fast as I could to get to my house! I can only imagine Harry's thoughts as I left a small dust trail as I tore across the rocks, "Is he crazy? Is he gonna die? And did he just leave me here by myself?"

I glanced back behind me and saw several of the kids chasing me. A few seconds later I made it to the road. As I raced down the road toward my yard they cut across some grass and caught up to me. Just as my front tire reached my yard, one of the kids grabbed the back bar of my banana seat and pulled the bike to an immediate stop. I'm still not sure how I managed to do it, but even though the bike stopped instantly, I didn't. I somehow flung a leg up and cleared the bike, landed on my feet, and continued on foot.

I yelled back to them "This is my house! Get out of here!" But it wasn't until I was safely on the back porch looking out the back door at them that they slowly turned around and walked away. I stuck my head out the door to let them know "I just called the police!", which I hadn't but it showed I wasn't playing around.

I don't think I have ever asked Harry what happened to him after I darted off on my bike. But apparently he made it through ok. I'm sure he eventually rode up to the house to see if I had made it.

It was a close call, but we had both made it through another rough scrape.