Just for fun, I did a little Natalie Goldberg writing practice tonight – writing for 10 minutes, starting with “I remember…” – and coughed up the following in 10 minutes flat:

I remember when I was trying to learn to ride a bike. I had a green bike, lime green. It had fat tires. One speed, no hand brakes. I got on it at the top of the drive way. My Mom was out front, standing and talking to a neighbor lady. I got on the bike, meaning to go down the driveway and turn at the mailbox and go down the sidewalk. The bike started down, it wasn’t steep but my brain froze. I forgot how to steer or brake. I just hung on and my Mom was standing talking to the neighbor. I rode past them and sort of screamed and went like a rodeo bull rider straight into that mailbox. I don’t think I got hurt, or damaged the mailbox, and that bike was built like a tank. A little first aid from Mom and I was back out there, seeking gravity’s insidious kiss.

I remember doing the same thing on Craig G’s dirt bike, when I was about 17. We were out in the thunderdome area on the east end of town. There was a race track out there back in the 20s or 30s, but it’s just rutted dirt trails, scrubby bushes and lizards now. I used to part out with my girlfriend Carol, probably about a year after I crashed Craig’s bike. It was nice of him to let me ride it. Actually, I didn’t want to. I’ve always known I have no balance, need four wheels under me. But my brother was off on his yellow and black Yamaha, and Craig wanted me to try his out and he showed me the controls. I rode it around for a while, through the scrub bushes and fennel, wild mustard, the ocean close by. Got confused at a turn, went the wrong way and the old brain froze up on me again. Went right down in a ditch. Hated to see Craig come walking along the trail, to drag his bike out of there. Sometimes the ground is very hard.