The BMX Incident

How Treasure Hunting Found Jimmy - Part 3

Black-and-white Lost Cabin Mine comic showing seven-year-old Jimmy riding a BMX bike down a playground slide, launching into the air, and learning from the crash. — At seven, Jimmy discovered that playground slides were not designed for BMX bikes. This information arrived shortly after takeoff.

Page 3: The BMX Incident

Jimmy was seven when he asked for a bike for his birthday.
Not a bike with ribbons.
Definitely not a bell.
A basket, maybe.

Jimmy had already learned that every serious expedition benefits from snacks, and frankly that was one feature worth respecting.
But what Jimmy really wanted was the red one.
The fast-looking BMX-style one.
The kind of bike that looked less interested in transportation and more interested in eventually becoming evidence.
When Jimmy got it, there were surprisingly few disasters.
A few scrapes. A couple bruises. Nothing dramatic.
Jimmy learned fast.
Too fast.

Before long, Jimmy had reached that dangerous stage of childhood development known as:
I got this.

History has repeatedly demonstrated that nothing useful follows those words.
One early morning, Jimmy quietly took the bike to the little park not far from home.
Again with the early mornings.
Apparently questionable decisions were best conducted before responsible adults had coffee.
Jimmy had a plan.
The park had a slide.
Most children looked at that slide and saw a slide.
Jimmy saw engineering.
Specifically, a ramp.
In Jimmy’s head, this was going to be magnificent.
There would be speed.
There would be air.
Records were about to be broken.
Nobody had measured the existing record, or confirmed that one existed, but those were administrative details.
The plan was simple.
Get the bike to the top.
Ride down.
Hit the bottom.
Launch.
Become legend.

Getting the bike up there should probably have been the first warning.
It took considerably more effort than expected, but eventually Jimmy and the red bike stood together at the top.
Jimmy looked down.
It seemed steeper from up there.
Excellent.
More speed.
Feet on pedals.
Hands on handlebars.
Front tire pointed toward destiny.
And off Jimmy went.
For the first few feet, everything happened exactly as expected.
The bike accelerated.
Then accelerated considerably more.
The handlebars started feeling less like steering equipment and more like something Jimmy was holding onto while events unfolded.
The bottom arrived.
The bike launched.
Jimmy launched.
The plan had worked.
Technically.
Jimmy had achieved flight.
Again.

Unfortunately, nobody had included landing in the planning committee.
The bicycle came down first, badly.
Jimmy came down second, worse.
There was dirt.
There was metal.
For one brief moment, Jimmy and the red BMX appeared to be attempting to occupy the same geographical coordinates.
Then everything stopped.
No crowd cheered.
No officials arrived with measuring equipment.
The record, if there had been one, remained frustratingly undocumented.
Jimmy eventually got up and performed the traditional childhood medical examination.
Arms moved.
Legs moved.
Nothing appeared to be pointing in a completely new direction.
Good enough.
There were scrapes.
There were bruises.
There was pain.
And there was one very important discovery.
The jump had actually worked.

This was perhaps the worst possible lesson Jimmy could have taken from the experience.
Because instead of thinking, That was incredibly stupid, seven-year-old Jimmy’s brain quietly filed the event under:
Needs improvement.
At four, there had been an umbrella.
At five, a stick and a yellow-jacket nest.
At seven, a BMX bike and playground equipment being used wildly outside manufacturer recommendations.
A pattern was developing.
See something.
Wonder what else it could do.
Form a plan.
Test the plan.
Discover an important flaw approximately three seconds too late.
Survive.
Learn something.
Remain curious.
Maybe that is part of how treasure hunters become treasure hunters.
You look at something ordinary and wonder if there is another way to see it.

Sometimes that leads to an old trail everyone else walked past.
Sometimes it leads to forgotten history.
And sometimes you are seven years old, airborne on a red BMX bike, discovering that a playground slide was perfectly adequate as a ramp.
It was the landing that needed work.

Present-day Jimmy would like to make something extremely clear.
Do not ride bicycles down playground slides.
Jimmy already conducted the research.
The research was flawed. It doesn’t work.
Everyone else would have seen the ending coming. Jimmy was busy aiming for the beginning.

Seven-year-old Jimmy apparently required field verification.
The raccoon has reviewed the first three stories and is beginning to understand why Jimmy was eventually assigned a supervisor.
Jimmy is a fictional treasure-hunting persona created by M. Hayward. Stories in this series may be inspired by real experiences, with details adapted or exaggerated for storytelling and humor. Nothing Jimmy does is intended as a recommendation or instruction. The raccoon insists he is real.

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Next: Part 4 - The Teeter-Totter Incident