A Series Of Close Calls

Articles

A Series Of Close Calls

By Jack Lepiarz
Sept. 10, 2006

A long time ago--before I had a driver's license--I was riding my bicycle down a hill as fast as I could. As I rounded a corner, I noticed someone that I recognized and thought I heard her say, "Hey Jack!". Needless to say, I turned my head around to look at her as I passed, quickly realizing that I mistaken a 40-year-old woman for one of my classmates. Upon turning around, I saw that I was about to ride right into a very large stone column. Slamming on the brakes, I flipped right over my handlebars (at full speed, remember), and found myself on a non-stop flight to the pavement below.

I don't quite remember what happened after that, since it was all purely instinctive, but I remember tucking my shoulder, rolling, and popping right back up to my feet--all in under a second. I didn't have a single scratch on me. It's too bad that the same couldn't be said about my bike.

In another case, I was driving home at what was probably two in the morning. It had been raining all day, and so the roads were all wet. For some strange reason, I decided that I didn't want to brake as I went down the off-ramp. I checked my speed and I thought that it'd be okay. After all, I wasn't going that fast.

As you can probably predict, I was halfway down the off-ramp when my car spun out of control and did a complete 270-degree turn. But remarkably enough, I hadn't hit anything. I had managed to spin completely around in the middle of a narrow off-ramp and not even touch the curb.

These kinds of incidents have almost become routine--sometimes by my own stupidity, and sometimes by simple bad luck. This past summer has been a series of close calls, and in every case, I have walked away from the accident without a scratch. I'm not sure how that has happened. The sheer amount of falls that I've incurred while riding my bicycle ought to mean that I'm covered with scars all over my arms and legs. The number of times that I've nearly put out my eye with a bullwhip means that I ought to be blind by now.

I think I may be the luckiest person alive. Either that or I'm invincible. I'm telling people that it's the latter, while knowing in my mind that it's the former.

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About the author: Jack Lepiarz is an 18-year-old college student at Emerson College in Boston. He also co-hosts the Katherine and Jack Show on UthTV.com and has been performing various circus talents for the past several years. Though often described as stubborn and egotistical, he tries to keep an open mind and treat others the way he would like to be treated.

Email: Jackwuzhere42@aol.com

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