My Brakes Don't Work

David and I were enjoying a stroll around our favorite trail in Durham. The humid 90 degree weather and changing leaves are a strange phenomenon to my Northwest perception of fall. In North Carolina, crisp is a word reserved for bacon, not for autumn weather.

Leaning over a bridge we talked and gazed at a slow paced creek. Strange rattling noises caused us to look up the trail. Hurtling down the hill came a small boy on his bike. David raised his eyebrows in concern. The boy seemed totally out of control. He hit the bridge and flew up over the edge yelling, "LOOK OUT! Ahhhh!" Just ahead we saw the trail make a 90 degree turn. Redirecting the path was a single chain stretched between fence posts. To our horror, little boy barreled straight over the bridge, couldn't make the turn, and smashed into the chain. He flipped over his handle bars and hit the ground.

Dave and I raced towards him, asking him if he was okay. He was sniffling quietly. His shoe had come off and amazingly enough he only had a few scraps. David asked him is name and age as he scooped up seven year old Trevor into his arms. I snagged his shoe wheeled his bike back up the hill.

His mother came into sight. Upon seeing her crying child in a stranger's arms, she spoke softly, "Ah, the rescue team."

I had a feeling this sort of thing has happened before. What a patient mother.