The year was 1981. The place was Ladbroke Grove on the Sunday of Notting Hill Carnival. It was a warm, sunny day and I had enjoyed innocently cycling alone from Shepherd's Bush on my recently acquired heavy one gear old-fashioned bike to join the festivities in the streets around Notting Hill, having been a few times before.  As I got nearer I could first hear and then feel the sound systems and the smells pulling me in. I was excited to be there. This was the time when I was immersed in the sounds of Dennis Brown, Gregory Isaacs, Linton Kwesi Johnson with Dennis Bovell, and Black Uhuru, as well as London's own Aswad, and wanted to breathe it all in. 
     I looked around for somewhere to lock up my bike, but hesitated and before I knew it found myself going down a street wheeling my bike alongside me. The street became narrower and the throng became denser by the minute, all travelling in the same direction into the heart of Carnival.  There was no way back I had to go forward. There were no side streets to escape into and I was in the middle of the road. I began to feel anxious with the crowd beginning to press in and with my heavy bike this began to be a problem. Voices were now muttering "What you doing with a bike here?", "Stupid boy!" and "Get out of here!" I felt uncomfortable and trapped in the situation, there was nowhere to go.  It got worse as the throng became denser still and now people near me were feeling the metal edges of my bike, its handlebars and pedals. I realized that fairly soon people would start to get hurt and were already beginning to really complain about this.  The only thing I could think of to do was to hoist my heavy up into the air and hold it aloft out of people's way. This was not a lightweight bike and it quickly became a strain on my arms and shoulders. Minutes went by and I was no nearer getting to the edge of the road and there seemed to be no way out of this situation. I felt desperate and all I could do was try and inch my way towards the edge and hope for an opening. 
     It was loud, it was noisy, whistles were blowing everywhere and the heavy, intense volume of the nearby sound systems drowned out everything else. I have no idea how long this situation went on for, it might have been 10 minutes, it could have been half an hour, but probably wasn't as long as that. My arms felt like dropping off. Salvation eventually came when some people standing on something raised at the street's edge spotted me and offered to take my bike off me. I didn't care at this stage what happened to the bike, all I wanted to do was drop it, so I gave it to them and managed to escape one of the most intense situations I had ever been part of. Relief washed over me. I made my way to these helpful people and was reunited with my heavy bike. I mumbled a thank you, I was almost beyond speech I feel so exhausted. If anyone had been filming my face during this relatively short episode they would have captured my full range of facial expressions going from initial concern to worry to alarm to fear to desperation into exhaustion and finally one of relief.  It would have made interesting viewing for everyone else but me. 
    I collapsed on the edge of the road, almost numb with pain in my arms and mental anguish and instant relief. I couldn't enjoy Carnival any more that day and when I could I cycled away to recover and lick my wounds. I did go back a couple of years later and had a much more positive experience checking out the Mighty Sparrow, Aswad and Gaz Mayall's ska and rock steady stage amongst so much more.  But I had learnt my lesson and carefully locked up my bike first, long before the crowds became dense.