As a boy of a very young age, everything seems exciting and surmountable. I would pretty much fly as one of the smart boys in the block, but who likes smart when you can be part of the cool kids? This was why coming home to see a motorcycle parked outside was exciting news. Don’t get me wrong, we had a car, but there is always something fascinating about watching a movie with the actor cruising in a power bike. Of course, at this time, you had a much stronger luck seeing a goat walk on two feet than catching a glimpse of a power bike speeding past, and the sound of its powerful engine resonating in your heart, even after the bike is no more. The only alternative to fall back on was the regular and common Suzuki motorcycle, and if you are lucky enough, a Bajaj, which at the time, felt like the dealer’s choice of motorcycle then, and we knew it.

So, coming back from school, and getting thumbs up from the cool kids on the block, like I was the most popular kid was a new status and I was loving it. Even the biggest bully in the block thought it cool to hail me on our newly acquired bike. It wasn’t long after before the devil found a willing heart to sew the question ‘Are you going to ride it?’

Suddenly, a new world where I could take a ride on this bike opened up and there was nothing that would stop me from making the effort, after all, it can’t be that hard, right?

A little thing to note at this point is that I did not know how to ride a motorcycle, neither had I rode a bicycle in the past successfully, but yet, all seemed possible, to me who believed. As they say, misfortune has a company, and so it was not difficult getting someone unfortunate enough to want to be my teacher, and guess what, he was just a couple of years older than myself.

Then came the first day of training, which as I had come to realize would be our only day of training, because my beloved teacher thought himself worthy of passing all needed knowledge in a couple of hours. We pushed the bike quietly away from the house like a couple of amateur grand theft criminals, got to a safe distance, powered up the bike and my teacher rode it to the location of our training, while I hopped behind. We got to the open school field we intended to use for the training, my wonderful teacher summarily ran through the various pedals and grips and had me hop in and put me to work.

After several failed attempts at kickstarting the bike without help, several screams of ‘look straight look straight, don’t look down’ and press brake, I was able to manage to get the bike to move without falling. Just in case you are wondering, yes, I mistakenly ran the bike into a bush close by and couldn’t stop because I kept firing at the gas pedal instead of grasping at the break. After a couple of hours, we felt it was time to call it a day and sneak the bike back home without raising suspicion, and hopefully, no one would have noticed it was missing. I rode the motorcycle home, and riding into our block felt like the triumphant entry of Jesus to Jerusalem. If I was a lady’s gut then, I am sure I’d have bagged some girls back then, just from that sight. Anyway, we snuck the bike back in and no one was the wiser.

It was exhilarating to be able to say I rode a bike when any of my pairs then could only boast about taking a bike to school without their mother’s consent because it so seemed every mother at that time felt motorcycles equaled broken bones. I felt my status change, and as the news of my latest fit spread like wildfire, the only thing on anyone’s mind was ‘When would you take me on your bike?’ My bike??? The devil is sure a wicked devil because who can be so cruel to a young me? I am barely done with my junior secondary school and with several older siblings, but yet you think it is ‘my bike’ Jesus!

Anyway, all the words flew right into my big head and all I could dream of was another opportunity to take the bike out. I had some short rides afterward, which pretty much were failed attempts at breaking my legs, neck, or probably an innocent child unfortunate to believe I was capable of not just riding myself, but having someone else with me. Then came a day, when it seemed I was being presented with the opportunity of doing what I have always longed for, and doing it under the guise of parental consent, how cool!

My dad was traveling down, but this time around without his car because he had to bring something quite bulky, and for some reason, I was able to make them consider using the bike to carry the said load. Unknowing to them, when I mentioned pushing the bike to meet up with my dad, I didn’t specify if I’d be pushing it down the entire distance or just enough to get away from my mother’s view before kick-starting the bike. So, there I was, having gotten the consent to push the bike out, I set out to carry out my plan as inspired by the devil.

I pushed the bike away from the general view of home, and as I pushed it, I saw a friend who being bored and out of anything profitable to do, decided to ride the bike a little distance along my route and then left me to go the entire length while he turned back. However, not to sound like I was naïve that night, this friend after stopping the bike to head back home, advised I only push the bike the remaining distance because he noticed there was an issue with the bike’s accelerator. I wasn’t going to be deterred by what anyone had to say, so as he turned back home, I kicked the bike on again and accelerated away. Barely two minutes in, as I got to a turning, I realized I was not in control of the bike and it was firing away at the accelerator all on its own. I struggled to make the breaks work and as I got to the turn, the bike sped right into a tent with chairs arranged in a way to suggest a meeting had just happened there. The bike fell by the tent, and so did I, amidst the shouts of fear from the people around. At first instance, everyone thought I was a drunk man riding a motorcycle, but I didn’t care so much. I picked up the bike, apologized to anyone willing to hear me, and pushed the bike away while I mentally assessed every part of my body.

One would think that this incident was all that was needed to get me straight and have me stick to the plan of pushing the bike to the meet-up location. I pushed the bike on while assessing what I probably did wrong and in a matter of minutes, I had convinced myself I knew what to do to ensure I rode the bike to the destination, without any more accidents, and hopefully have something to brag about that night. So, in a matter of minutes, I was back on the bike again and rode on.

Not far along came a small hill, and just before I could get to the base of the hill, the bike went out of control again, sped through the hill out of control, launching me and the bike into the air like one of those dirt bike riders you see on Tv, but this time I was in the air with the bike, and the only thing in front, was the fence of a mosque. Though the fence was just a couple of feet off the ground, it didn’t stop the bike from running into it and breaking through it. The bike landed on the ground and so did I, and I hurriedly stood up, not because I was that strong, but because my right leg had landed on the hot exhaust of the bike, and my right leg was beginning to become barbecue.

I stood up assessed myself and in all I looked like I fought with a bear. My trousers were torn at various points, my barbecued right leg and bruise and cuts here and there, but I was fine. The bike however was not as lucky as I was and I had successfully totaled some parts of the bike. Now there was no way my initial story about pushing the bike down could hold up and nothing could get me out of the trouble I was in as the evidence was just there to see.

I picked up the bike and pushed the bike the remaining distance while I regretted ever conceiving the idea of riding a bike in the first place. I got into a lot of trouble that night and to date, the PTSD is still somewhere there. Years after and I am still yet to get myself to ride a bike again. Though I tried driving a vehicle, but that’s a story for another time, hopefully.