I was racing as quickly as I possibly could down the hill. I was pumping my legs as hard could; I wasn’t moving that fast considering I was only four years old. I was practicing for something I was going to ask my brother. I believed at the time that I, Jonathan B., was the most experienced cyclist in Wisconsin. I mean, I could go with “no hands” the whole time if I wanted. Since I believed I was the best cyclist around, I challenged my brother, Adrian. He was my half-brother, but I considered him my full-brother. Adrian accepted my challenge with confidence because he was ten years old at the time. He told me that he was going to beat me gravely, but I was determined to beat him.

We started to peddle to the top of the five-hundred yard hill. The hill was huge, and when I went down it, it would feel like I was going a hundred miles per hour. Adrian and I got up to the hill and looked at each other. Adrian purposed a limitation on our race. He said that we both had to race down the going with “no hands”. I looked him straight in his sky blue eyes with a sense of determination and said, “Okay, I will if you will.”

He said, “We have a race then.”

I was flooded with confidence. I smiled. I looked at the sky before we started, and looked back down at the pavement. I was ready. I was simply waiting for him to say go.

Adrian yelped, “Go!”

We were off. The wind went past my scrappy little body stronger and stronger. My eyes were straight ahead as if I had tunnel vision. I didn’t even see Adrian. Until this day, I still believe we reached about thirty miles an hour going down that hill. We were coming near the end and I started to pull ahead. I was still going “no hands”. I looked back, believing I had the victory. When I turned my head, the wheel also turned; it turned completely perpendicular to the rest of my bike.

I flew in mid-air straight forward. It felt like I was in the air for hours because I remember looking back and seeing Adrian’s face full of fright. I hit the wet, black, and rough pavement. As soon as I hit the pavement I sensed excruciating pain on the inside of my knees. I felt warmth running down my legs. As soon as I looked down, I saw blood pulsating out of my knees and onto the rest of my legs. I was on the pavement screaming from the pain. The pain was unbearable. I shut my eyes, screaming, and crying.

I felt myself being lifted off the air. When looked up I saw my big brother, Adrian. His eyes had horror in them with a smidge of panic. Though home was two hundred yard away, he carried me there, sprinting. He did it in about a minute. He brought me to my Mom who screamed when she saw my torn up knees. My Mom then treated my torn up knees with rubbing alcohol and Neosporin. That hurt exceptionally bad. It was awful.

I was set in my bedroom to lie down after my mother put all of the badges on. I was lying on my blue bed that matched my room color, just like I wanted it. I laid there with my eyes wide open thinking of the cuts on my knees. My parents and brothers told me to sleep and stay still. I really tried to. I laid there uncomfortable, counting sheep, and counting numbers to as high as I possibly could. That wasn’t enough; it was not allowing me to sleep. It was the unbearable throbbing that was burning on my cut up knees. The sting wasn’t letting me sleep. It was the pain.