Dress in a gaudy costume, wave a raygun, and threaten to hurt a lot of people while standing in a car park in Metropolis. The friendly local superhero will be along to hit you with a car shortly.
Otherwise, be overconfident, and try to pick your way along a foot of uneven kerbstones between a metal railing and the road. Judge the distance slightly wrong, and watch your bar end strike the end of the barrier, and bounce you off into the large white vehicle next to you. Hit the steeply sloped front, thankful you just missed the wingmirror with your head and saved your glasses. Then remember that the surface you just hit was steeply sloped, and that you've been pitched forwards by the van's motion. Watch everything blur as you pick up speed, realising that the van you just hit was moving. Look the driver in the eye as you fall, then stare the radiator grille in the face, then focus on the tire headed straight for your stomach.
Breathe a sigh of relief as you see the van stopping, but have the air knocked out of you as you hit the ground, and then by the sudden sense of loss as you see the wheel of your bike bent sharply by a few tons of weight applied to the rim. 'Oh crap', you think. 'That was the last free one'. Curse yourself for not wearing a helmet, but realise that, again, it would have been no use.
Rest for a few seconds, before trying to get up, staggering like a drunk as the fluid in your ears swirls. Almost fall over. Pick the bike up, stagger away onto the pavement, wave the driver of the van away. You're fine, you can stand, you can still ride, can't you? Try doing just that, then realise the bar end that hit the barrier is gone. Remember that it was loose anyway, and you must have lost grip on it. Wait for the lights you were running to change again, and dart out to grab it. It's crushed, useless, broken. A moment of sadness, before realising you have another set of bar ends in the garage. Elation, before remembering just why those are there. The previous bike, the one given to you by your father after the one you scrimped and saved for all summer was stolen, and how the frame suddenly went 'ping' and broke beyond repair. Stuff the flattened plastic tube in your bag, cross the road since there's still nothing moving, then mount up again. Realise that, yes, the wheel is still bent. And your arm hurts, because you seem to be bleeding. Unsnap the brakes, wheel off to the nearby bike shop, and call your mother because you can't afford a new wheel on your own, and don't feel like cycling home after that.
Later, fit the new wheel, the old bar ends, and then discover the crushed tube while rooting in your bag for the tire levers. Finish up, walk back inside, toss the crushed parts to the floor in disgust and anger.
Even later, smile as the cat bats at the unevenly crushed plastic plug, chasing after it as it skitters unevenly across the floor. Laugh at the 20lb cat acting like a kitten as he plows into the coffeetable, then the TV stand, then the sofa, all in pursuit of something you can't even name as anything other than a 'Thingy'.
Years later, look at the Thingy, and smile at the memories it summons. Of the bike (stolen and replaced), the cat (dead of old age a few days previous, and cremated by the vet), and of the crash it was obtained in.