In the olden days, the 1970’s, before “extreme skateboarding” and the like, there was still a desire among the boys of the neighborhood to take it to the limit (or beyond) and live life dangerously on the edge. Case in point… Robby, Kyle, Mike R, Brian, myself and Markey. The Canyon View Kids were only trying to have some fun. How much trouble can a bunch of 5th grade boys get into? The possibilities are endless. Just ask Markey’s mom, the ambulance crew, his doctors…  I'll explain.

The combination of six 5th grade boys and the heat of a late August Montana summer can be a dangerous one. Everywhere we looked, we saw adventure and opportunity. Armed with canteens and bikes, the sure route to a sugar high was as close as finding pop bottles near the truck stop and cashing them in at the local Circle K for some easy dimes and quarters. Those Charms pops were only a dime a piece... not to mention a penny each for Pixie Stix or a Jolly Rancher. Black Cats and Lady Finger firecrackers (sold year round)  were only a dime a pack! Life was sweet!

After consuming large quantities of penny candy, our minds told us that it would be a good idea to build a big ramp so we could ride our bikes down the hill and into space. If we were lucky, we might even impress the neighborhood cutie, Corinna Maier, with our daring and bravado. There was lots of new construction going on in East Missoula so finding scrap wood, nails, tools, etc... was no problem. I don't recommend jumping in the abundant piles of pink insulation along the way, but that's another painful, itchy story. I digress.

We didn't know too much about angles then. Mrs. Swanson did her best to teach us the basics but who could be bothered by such lofty things? Instead, as she droned on (Charlie Brown adult voice affects needed here) we studied our pet raccoon that we kept in class. In our minds, he was much more educational and entertaining. Needless to say, our ramp was impressive in all of its grandeur. I'm sure the construction workers fixed any areas that were suddenly "missing" some wood... that is... if they found their tools. That's what they do. They fix things.

As we stood basking around our accomplishment, we noticed that the height of our ramp was a bit more than we had envisioned. While scrounging for tools, we couldn't find a saw so we improvised. We left the wood as long as we found it. Easy! Besides... Evel Knievel was from Montana right? There you go! In our minds, this made perfect sense. It was time to fly! Who would go first?

Markey!

Markey always went first. Did he go first because we outvoted him or because he was a daredevil? I can't remember. All I remember about that issue is feeling relief that it wasn't me.

Our little neighborhood project was perfectly planned with 5th grade boys in mind. It was a downhill slope that ended in a large paved cul-de-sac where snow could be piled during winter. Spring rains and snow melt insured the appearance of whitewater runoff between Robby's yard and mine. It was more than sufficient for all manner of harrowing G.I. Joe adventures. The fact that this sudden river disappeared down the big iron storm drain at the base of the cul-de-sac only added to our fun.

As we stood at the top of the street gazing at our launching pad of a ramp, I couldn't help but notice how impressive our construction looked even from so far away. Wow! When Markey hits that thing at full speed, he's bound to travel... what? 10 feet? Maybe 20? How much is a foot anyway? I'm sure Mrs. Swanson covered that stuff at one time. But weights and measurements? Meh! Anyway... all I know is that it was gonna be quite the flight! Kyle and Brian stayed at the top with Markey to make sure he didn't chicken out. Mike R, Robby and I rode back down to the ramp so we could analyze the results and decide who would go second. We stood a good distance from either side of the ramp and waited with anticipation. This was gonna be sweet!

I'll never forget the puzzled look on Markey's face as he approached the “rampasauraus” at full velocity. The expression on his face seemed to be saying, "Hey! Wait just a second... um...!" But by then, it was too late. Markey was airborne! I don't know which was more shocking to me; the fact that he was flying at mid telephone pole level or that fact that he hit the telephone pole at mid level? Either way... Wow!

But not as shocked as Markey! He didn't make as sound as he flew straight toward that pole. Who would've thought that a kid could fly that high or that far? Who would've thought to aim that ramp toward an empty space instead of that pole? These frivolous details were way beyond us. I'm sure Mrs. Swanson might have mentioned something about velocity times rate times angle yadda yadda... blah blah…I don't know. All I knew was that this wasn't going to end pretty.


Marky hit that pole dead center. The front half of his bike took much of the impact as it folded in on itself. The wet "Smack" sound of Markey hitting the pole is one I will always think of when I am stacking sacks of potatoes or bags of wet cement. Smack! Markey… bike… became one. Then came Marky's secondary collision with the ground. You have to admire his survival instincts. As he headed for the ground, he prepared for the inevitable impact by placing both arms between himself and the grass. This in itself was an impressive feat because; 1) he was still conscious and 2) he was tangled up in the bike. They were one flesh and metal entity. The captain always goes down with his ship and Markey went down!

Us three guys at the bottom could hear the breaking of Markey's arms even from where we stood. We rallied together and did what every good group of boys who grew up together would do and scattered. It was every boy for himself now. As Markey writhed in agony, I glanced at the top of the road and noticed Kyle and Brian had already split. Fast thinking! Mike R., Robby and I took the lower half and headed for the river. It would be hours before they found us. We had built a fort in the old field that we accidentally caught on fire the week before. That was a perfect place to hide.

I'll never figure out how our mothers knew where we were almost immediately. What's up with mothers? They just know things! If we ate the cookies… if we buried our sister’s Barbie in he sandbox… when we had to go to the bathroom… somehow they just know! Suffice it say... we were tugged back by our hair and ears just in time to watch Markey leave by ambulance. Splints, Police, Sirens, Paramedics. Wow! The whole neighborhood was out in the street watching. He gets all the luck! I wonder if Corinna saw it?!?

Ten months later and lots of physical therapy, Markey was in perfect health. He even had a new bike. Eventually he was even allowed to play with us again. His parents subjected him to small test doses of us and, after a time without significant injury, he was released into our custody once again. By July, he was roaming with the pack. Things were back to normal... just in time for the bridge washout!

Does it get any better than giant structures getting swept downstream in a violent torrent? I don't think so. Half of the old bridge did just that. We hopped on our bikes and had a front seat view of giant construction vehicles moving twisted steel while spouting huge gouts of black fumes. Wow! Gnarly men with chewing tobacco and tattoos... and they wore big yellow hardhats as they cleared the debris and wreckage. Twisted  steel and iron… It was kid heaven. However, we had to wait until those workers left the scene in order to really check out the part of the bridge that was still in tact. It stuck out over the river, like a giant ramp... Hey!

It looked like a big ramp! "Hmmmmm..." we thought. Then Mike R. came up with the perfect idea. "We could jump our bikes off the bridge into the river!" Hurray! What an idea! No telephone poles... No mothers around... Markey's casts were off... What could go wrong, right? Who's gonna try it first?

As Marky headed for the end of the bridge, pedaling for all he was worth, we noticed that same expression coming over his face. It seemed to be saying, "Uh oh! I don't think this is such a good idea." Then off he went... gracefully flailing his arms and legs as he separated from his bike and plummeted toward the river below. He hit the water with a big wet potato sack sound. Smack! "Ohhhhh!" we groaned we in unison. We could see him sinking to the bottom with his bike. It didn't look near that deep from up there on the bridge. After a few futile attempts to resurface with his bike, Markey let it go and propelled himself up through the surface with a huge GASP!. We were much encouraged by this. We weren't going to be in near as much trouble now that he survived!

We tried various methods of retrieving Markey's bike but to no avail. It's amazing how strong those currents were. The bike was easing its way along the river bottom at quite a stout pace and after a while, we lost sight of it completely. We headed home with Markey riding on the handle bars of Kyle's bike. We thought of it as more of a learning experience and were very happy not to have lost our own bikes. Things just might turn out OK after all. But then Markey's moms called our moms and things didn't turn out ok after all. Moms! Grrrrr! Doesn’t take much to freak them out!

Two bikes down. Poor Marky! A week later, his dad bought him his third bike but it was used. Yuck! But at least it moved and he could keep up with us. He informed us that he wasn't allowed to play with us anymore so he made sure to stay at least 30 feet behind us wherever we went. As we headed toward the old bridge again, we were feeling kinda smug because this time, we had rope!

We carefully lowered the rope until it touched the river. Wow! Measuring! Mrs. Swanson would nod her head in approval I she knew. It was quite the amount of footage from that broken bridge to the river surface. But the rope was long enough and we tied one end to a steel girder and the other to Markey's bike. And since we actually had rope, this really couldn't be considered "playing with those other idiots" because this was serious and we had measured so… We were on a mission and nothing could go wrong because we had thought this one out. We had learned from our previous mistakes. We had the rope securely anchored. It was tied to the bike. After the jump, Markey would swim to the shore and we would haul up his bike and tie it to the next bike. Oh the simplicity of it all!

We never even considered the chance that the loose rope could've gotten tangled in his rigging as he chugged his legs at what must've been darn near the speed of sound. For one brief moment, time was suspended. As he left the bridge, Markey's trajectory formed a perfect arch as he fulfilled all of our dreams. Who could've guessed that the slack might get caught up in the left pedal as he descended toward the water? The rope tangle took up a good three feet that couldn't be spared so as he ran out of slack, what could he do but go DOYNG! The rope snapped tight so fast that Markey did a sideways water SLAP! that sounded like a hundred wooden spanking spoons going off all at once!

Of course the rope broke at that point and Markey's used bike went the route of his other bike. We didn't even try to recover that one because we were too busy directing a dazed Markey to the shore. It's so hard to keep your sense of direction when your inner ear has been so damaged due to a sudden implosion of water. After swimming wounded fish style in jerky circles, we managed to follow him downriver until such a time as we could snag him with a branch. I don't think it left a scar. We were just glad to have him back.

Once again, Markey found himself on Kyle's handlebars as we pedaled home... heads held low. We dropped him off a block away so as to avoid the mom and made our way back home quietly. It would be nice to say we were all in our rooms the whole time but moms know about that kind of ploy.

Later on, that summer Markey moved for some reason. I wonder if he ever regained his hearing on that one side? But more importantly, I wonder if he ever got another bike?