Monday, August 25, 2003

Eat Handle Bar

When I was young I had a scooter. It was a pretty cool toy with a simple design, basically a two-wheeled skateboard with a handle bar (the main difference between my scooter and in-line scooters were the larger rubber tires). Despite its simplicity, I loved that scooter. I remember riding through my development at break-neck speeds, leaning my small body into suicide sharp turns, and leaping over small curbs with reckless abandon. I was ten years old when my scooter became my nemesis. My friends and I were riding our various self-propelled vehicles through our neighborhood, talking cheerfully about Nightmare on Elm Street, which we had watched for the first time the previous evening. My friend, Raul, was wearing a plastic Freddy Krueger glove, and spewing out random vulgar lines from the movie, which I am sure we found thoroughly amusing. Distracted by childhood, I found myself launched into the air, rocketing face first into the windshield of a parked car. Apparently, a water main cover was dislodged from the street, creating a small ramp that angled towards the grill of an ancient Chrysler. I awoke several hours later in a hospital bed with a broken wrist, a slight concussion, and lacking my last baby tooth. My scooter was damaged beyond repair. If man has learned anything throughout the ages it is that history repeats itself. Last night, I was at my uncle’s house for Sunday dinner, when I decided to take my cousins motorized scooter for a little drive. Besides the engine mounted on its rear, the scooter is a close replica to the one I owned years before. Starting the engine, I departed on the scooter sans helmet. Within a few minutes I was motoring around with nearly the same carefree recklessness that I possessed 13 years before, except this time I was traveling at a much greater speed. Zipping through my uncle’s neighborhood, I grew more and more comfortable on the scooter. I started widening my turns, then leaning in and sliding the scooter sideways, gently skidding the scooter around turns at full speed. I entered a small cul-de-sac and carelessly made a sharp turn too close to sidewalk curb. The front tire shot over the curb, however, because I was leaning into the turn, the back tire slid and scrapped along the concrete curb. I realized instantly that my old nemesis struck again, my only hope was to dive for the soft grass at the other side of the curb. Unfortunately it was too late. Wipe Out! The scooter spun violently around flinging me back first into a mail box. Luckily for me the mail box cushioned my fall, leaving me with a sore back and a wounded pride. The mail box was not as fortunate. Fearing a wrathful homeowner, I leapt on the vile scooter and throttled off into the sunset. I managed to make it back to my uncle’s house without further incident or injury. It was there that I made a solemn pledge to myself. I pledged not to steer clear of scooters, but, instead I swore to make sure that the nearby hospital had a copy of my medical records on file in case my next “scooter incident” sent me to the ER.

Comments (2)