Aop Cricket Hill on Chicago Lakefront: Everything from here down

I rode my bike along the lakeside path early one morning last week, standing standing from the seat and pedaling as hard as I can to get speed on a small incline as my right foot slipped off the pedal.

Suddenly I found myself sitting in the frame of the bike instead of the seat as I cared out of control along the incoming lane and along the grass, my legs spinning wildly as I tried to stay upright.

Somehow I never really bumped into the ground, which doesn’t explain how I still managed to get rid of the bloody left knee and cutting both legs.

It was all over in a matter of seconds, and I was on my way. But amazing what can go through people’s minds in such a short amount of time.

On another day or other time of day, I would probably have come across an approaching rider, and both have been lying there waiting for an ambulance, and that would have been my fault. Somehow I managed to think all of this while feeling embarrassed that someone must have seen a play I had just made about myself.

It even occurred to me that I might have killed myself, which wasn’t a new idea in the often busy lakeside bike path, although I usually associate it with someone who behaves carelessly on my own.

Just as my self-confidence declined, and I felt my age.

Part of me thinks a guy should do something every few years to get his knee on the skin just to remind himself still alive. The second part asks how sensible it is to do something for health reasons that might make you kill.

I swear I’m really not going to drive that fast. Other riders pass me by regularly, and it doesn’t bother me (unless they’re Divvy).

My hybrid bike is built for more comfort than speed anyway, and the legs give exactly the same as before.

But it’s also true that I ride almost as hard as I can from start to finish, hoping for the benefits of repetitive training I got from running before my right knee was changed.

My younger brother was always a child who climbed the top of the hill by bike, released the brakes and let him tear, there is no reason to slow down until he reached the bottom. Fearless.

I always use the brakes along the hill, more concerned with uncontrollability and loss of balance than lifting the rear.

Mark Brown / Sun-Times

Today, my brother, two years younger, is a mountain biker. Last year, he told me to ride a trail through the woods in a hilly area. Hed pulls through the translations as if the trees there had met you by mistake. As always, I went downhill as slowly as possible, advancing through the arches of the road.

Our father was 68 years old when he died. Our grandfather 67. Im 66.

I’m not going to stick to that fact, but I think about it from time to time. I have better health than they had. But if heredity is half the battle, it should be noted that everyone always said I took after my father.

I was also thinking about all of this when I got the last five miles on the journey, taking it much slower than before.

To restore confidence, I drove up twice to Cricket Hill, a pond-sized sled hill in Montrose that runs for altitude change in Chicago. What some old guys do to prove themselves can still.

On the way back, however, I braked.

Because old guys should be smart enough to know their limitations.