MINDLESS MUSINGS

I do not know where the motor bike came from, but I do know that nobody owned it; thus the severe hammering it was receiving that afternoon up in Tempe tip. By the time I got there the boys had worked out a makeshift race track on which they were competing for the fastest time. I had one go and my inability to change gears properly put me out of contention, so my unco ass was deemed to be the timekeeper.

There was a huge mound of broken up concrete slabs, almost the height of the roof of a regular house in some spots. The tensioning wires were jutting out in all directions like murderous spikes placed there to impale unsuspecting victims. Due to that fact the finish line was placed about 50 metres before the mountain of death. The boys weren’t totally crazy.

However they weren’t totally brainy either. You see there was a serious fault with the bike that everyone just kind of accepted: The rear brakes did not work and the accelerator cable sometimes got stuck; re-read that again if you like, I will wait. With no helmet or safety gear to speak of, what could possibly go wrong?

Basically the boys were racing on a bike that if it malfunctioned you would be trying to slow down with only your front brakes while the accelerator continued to propel you forward in a filthy rubbish dump surrounded by objects that could potentially maim or kill you; not to mention death mountain that was a mere fifty meters away from the chosen finish line.

One by one they would race down to the end of the makeshift track, do a 180 and head back as fast as possible. These guys really were super competitive. There was a thin patch of dirt that resembled a bridge over a tiny ravine and this was chosen as the finish line. Once a rider passed this point I hit stop on the watch and the ‘race’ was over.

About five guys had gone and it was pretty close. I have no idea who was leading though after all these years. This was when our friend Secko appeared on the scene and asked what was going on. After hearing the rules and the ‘safety’ instructions young Secko was more than keen to have a go.

With everyone perched on and around Death Mountain to watch, Secko took off at full speed down along the track. He knew which speed he had to beat and he seemed determined to do it. On the turn he was looking good and he flew back towards us like a man possessed.

He crossed the bridge finish line and showed no signs of slowing down. He had won, but he was heading directly toward Death Mountain. I was certain he had spotted a gap and was going for it; but to my horror as I jumped down and moved to get a better look, there was no gap, just the mounds of broken up cement with the deadly spikes of tension wires poking out everywhere.

Obviously the accelerator cable had stuck and in his panic he could not remember to lightly apply the front brakes, he was probably gripping the rear brakes with all his might to no avail. The look on his face was sheer terror. All we could do was watch and wait.

He slammed into death mountain full force, but fortunately the front tyre rolled up a fair way rather than stopping dead; that would have cushioned the blow at least a little bit. He slammed forward into the handle bars and his legs wrapped around them; his balls must have been crushed. Somehow he held on to the handle bars and did not fly off the bike which could have ended with him being impaled on any one of those tension wires. I did not see where he hit his head, but he did somewhere.

He bounced back from the mountain and hurled the bike to one side screaming like a madman.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Ron promptly announced “that’s it call an ambulance!”

Mitco motioned for Ron to keep quiet.

He was walking in circles feeling himself all over trying to find where he had been injured. Everyone slowly moved closer to him. I remember Mitco telling us to underplay any injuries we saw because we didn’t want him freaking out. We wanted him to be able to walk out of the tip and get help then. If he freaked out we may have to carry him kicking and screaming.

As we got closer his main concern was his balls. He pulled out a crushed packet of cigarettes from his pants and screamed “my balls! I crushed my balls!”

He didn’t look too bad considering what had just happened. However his mouth was a bloody mess and good old Jonno couldn’t help but be the bearer of bad news.

“Oooh shit look at your mouth” he cried.

Secko put his hand to his mouth and after feeling his broken teeth and seeing the blood proceeded to flip out.

“Oh shit man, my dad is gunna kill me! I just got these teeth fixed! Oh Shit man! Shit! Shit!”

Thanks Jonno. Luckily Secko was still able to walk himself out of the tip and we didn’t have to carry him. He was inconsolable as he limped down the hill towards his house. I don’t know what happened to the bike.

I knew it was not going to help, but I felt it my duty to inform Secko that he had in fact won the ‘race’ by 1 second. I don’t think it cheered him up much.

We got him home and I believe he had no permanent injuries; very lucky indeed. Yet another example of the dumb things young men do.