Persons attempting to find a "text" in this [story] will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a "subtext" in it will be banished; persons attempting to explain, interpret, explicate, analyze, deconstruct, or otherwise "understand" it will be exiled to a desert island in the company only of other explainers.
BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR - Wendell Berry's introduction to Jayber Crow.
This article was posted to Jayber on 6 April 2006 by to the following categories: Feature, Stories.
An audio version of this article is also available.
The first time I tried an endo to impress some friends, my 10-speed Peugeot decided it was time to do its best imitation of a stubborn mule, causing my sans-helmet oversized biscuit to say "Hello Mr. Asphalt."
In a similar feat of machismo, I attempted to jump a sand hill in the gravel pit in my backyard that was way too big to be safe. I started at the top, rode my bike down part way, launched off a mini plauteau, and landed after free-falling 10 vertical feet, only to discover later while I was laying on my back that I not only didn't land the jump, but I had racked my jimmies in a terrible way.
Still another time, while riding bike to a friends house, I decided to brave the entire distance with no paws on the tiller. Along the way, I rode by a group of people, backyard-grilling. As I tried to get them to notice that I was riding no-handed, I crashed into the back of a parked car, crumpling my front rim, bruising my elbow, and landing half on the top of the trunk with my lips pressed against the rear windshield. One guy heard the wreck, ran to me, and said, "What the hell were you trying to do? You should go home boy."
We stunt men have boldness in our blood; it's a viscious cycle.