Daft or damn-near fatal? Once turned right into the path of an accellerating motorbike, this being the early eighties it was probably something like a Z750 (remember it being a big four, all shiny chrome exhaust headers as it skated & sparked down the road). Fetched me off good 'n proper, biker was OK apart from scrapes & bruises, shocked him more than me.
Plain daft, apart from clothes-pegging playing cards into spokes (come on, we all did it!), jumping my mess-about bike off a homemade three-brick-high ramp. Said bike had a very worn pair of the old rubber diamond-tread pedals, combined with worn & shiny-soled trainers meant virtually no grip so my left foot came down before the rest of me and took all of my descending mass plus the bikes. Trip to casualty and a week in polaster for a badly sprained ankle.
Once disgusted my mother by takign my bike through the outdoor lido in the village where I now live. Said 'lido' was a swimming pool in the broadest sense of the word, no admission fee, no changing rooms, just a concrete pool with water and that was it. You even got free frogs in late summer, so I didn;t feel bad about what I did. Mother, on the other hand, did.........!
Oh, and trying to bike jump from a ramp over a river (and not quite making it)
