I remember pumping my legs as hard as could, the pedals giving me resistance as the tires worked their way through the soft dirt. I knew as I hit the jump that I didn’t have enough speed the clear the gap. I closed my eyes and just prepared for the inevitable impact that was sure to come. I felt my front tire hit the landing ramp and body being tossed over the handlebars. I turned my head slightly and felt my head smack into the now not so soft dirt. I laid there in the ground for minute feeling the pain building slowly through my body, each nerve beginning to be lit by flames. I then felt liquid running down my face. I can’t start to cry, I thought, people are watching. I felt a need to hold back these tears that were running down my face to prove I was strong. But they weren’t tears. The liquid was too thick and warm to be tears. I lifted my face up and rubbed my eyes. I looked at my hands and saw a thick paste of blood and dirt in my hands. The side of my head had a hit a rock and split my scalp open. I needed to stitches to stop the bleeding. To this day whenever I get my haircut there is a small part of my head that doesn’t grow hair. People usually poke fun because they think its do to a bad barber getting a little to close with the clippers. It’s always a nice conversation piece and a good reminder to always wear a helmet.