It was love 

My foot pushed down hard on the kickstart and the engine fired into life. The feeling of power was awesome. A quick flick of the wrist sent the engine roaring and screaming beneath me. I felt like a Spitfire pilot as I knocked the bike into gear and set off around the track, the bikes knobbly tyres cutting into the soft earth.

There was a fair crowd gathered around to watch, including my proud if worried looking parents, and Matt, one of my elder brothers. I cruised around the track, settling into the bike and feeling out the terrain. Now it was time to see what the machine could really do.

I twisted the throttle open and the bike lurched forward faster and faster. I roared down the home straight and banked the bike into the first corner. Something was wrong. The bike wasn't turning. It's narrow wheels were stuck in a rut and no matter what I did it wouldn't go round the corner. I was out of track, haybales loomed large infront of me.

The bike stopped dead as it hit the haybales, sending me somersaulting over the handlebars and leaving me in a crumpled, heavily winded heap on the other side. Blood trickled from my skinned knuckles, tears welled in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks.

My mum pushed through the crowd and picked me up. It was Ingleston Sunday Market, the bike was a pay-per-ride. I was 10 years old, it was my first go on a motorbike and I loved it!