Tuesday, July 22, 2008


Darling Daughter, as you may know, has a learners permit, which means she can ride her bike only in the company of dually licensed riders. So she went off yesterday with B.F., and several co-workers for a short jaunt around town. Two of this motley crew have sport bikes, and have discovered how easily they get up on one wheel. One of them is so good, he wants to become a riding instructor.
The instructor wannabe was demoing his skills on the rear wheel, when he over-cooked it just a bit, and demonstrated the meaning of the phrase "ass over teakettle", and "parked in a tree".
He was not seriously injured, just seriously embarrassed, and once the road rash was scrubbed away by the helpful medics at the local e-room, he was back assessing the damage to the bike, which did not fare so well.
What are friends for if not to help. I get a call to hurry up and come retrieve a crashed bike, I believe, on the theory that if the evidence is gone before the police show up, then no one will have to explain very much of what was going on. Nice thinking, but I'm 11 miles away, and need to uncap the truck before I can get going. Did I mention this happened in rush hour traffic? By the time I get there, the light show rivals the 4th of July, and the ambulance is ready to leave. I show up, loading ramp and all and the nice (burley) firemen helped me load the bike and everything.
The crew, the motley one, had been warning our hero for some time about his flirtation with disaster, and, as soon as it appeared he was OK, began carefully documenting the damage to the bike, hes gear (he was wearing all of it), and his dignity with their cell phones. They're also lamenting that none of them have a Facebook page to post them on. Who knows, they may get one, now that they have some good material.
Our "instructor" is showing great promise, as by his example, the other sportbike rider has learned to keep both wheels firmly on the ground at all times.
It also appears that the word "motley" isn't being abused here, as 2 of the 6 in the crew, upon assuring themselves that our hero was essentially undamaged, decided that, since their own circumstances would not bear too close a scrutiny by the police, they could hear their mommies calling them to dinner. Or something.

The experiences of my own wasted youth being such that absolutely none of this was the least bit novel or surprising, I had to laugh.

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