It has been a while since I have contributed to the site so I whipped up a little tale for you late last night. The following story is true, or a least I have been telling it this way for quite some time.
At 6:00 on June 6th of 1983 I climbed my porch stairs. Mom had just called me in for dinner and I begrudgingly left my fire engine red three wheeled steed at the yard’s edge. Peering back at the end of the driveway I admired the vehicle that was central in my four-year-old universe.Ahh, my ticket to freedom.
As I looked on I spotted an elderly woman piloting her oldsmobile stationwagon to the terminus of our dead end road. With a head of menacing blue hair that barley cleared the steering wheel she beached the wagon on our yard, lurched forward, and lumbered back. And with eight cylinders gurgling she rounded off her awkward turn-around on a vector that took her directly over my beloved trike.
I screamed in protest. Before tears obscured my vision I witnessed the pea green oldsmo-saurus drag my bike off, completely ignoring the sparking screeches of protests. Murderer!I never saw that bike again.
At 8:00 on June 6th of 2013 the xc bike that leans securely on my porch rail makes it hurt a little less.