Stupid Me
Some people are just slow learners. They really are. I KNOW I'm a klutz who barely (and I mean barely) can manage her Shadow Aero 750. I know I'm a natural only when it comes to contact sports like shopping and high performance sports like coming up with dinner plans for the family at the last minute. But I'm not a natural when it comes to anything with wheels. Hell, the cogwheels in my brain barely turn for all the cobwebs in the way. But what do I do? I buckle under the pressure from my husband to buy a second bike--a Ducati Monster 620. "It's a beginner bike. Lot's of women buy these," he insists. "We'll be twinkies," he says. (Okay, I'm kidding about that one. He's NEVER be caught dead saying something like that but revenge is sweet.) Mind you we're at a big special event at the dealer's--free hotdogs, Red Bulls (yuck), demo rides, and an appearance by world champion Ducati racer, Neil Hodgeson. Never heard of the guy, but seeing what a hottie he was conjured up fantasies of having every square inch of my naked body (uh, I mean naked bike) autographed personally. "Maybe I should try it out first," I reply. "Nope, it's too busy around here. Too dangerous," my hubbie says. That should have been my first indicaton. Anyway, I assented, bargained, and signed the necessary paperwork so that Neil could autograph my new bike before he left. He signed my tail (yeah, the bike's dammit) "Lot's of Love XX" and then alot of Sanskrit that may have been his name. Rune drove my new baby home and I couldn't wait to drive it around the block. I was alittle nervous as I got my gear on, but proceeded with abandon. I straddled my bike and turned the igntion on, then, perturbed by a million critical eyes burning a hole through my helmet, I shouted, "Everyone stop staring at me!!!" Then off I went to the intersection of our street and Echo Lane. As soon as the traffic would allow, I pulled out, stalled, and laid the thing down within the first 2 minutes of getting on the damn thing. You know those slo-mo situations when you scream inside your head "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo." That was me. Fortunately, that gave me alittle time to manuever part of my body underneath the bike to cushion the blow. THe part I chose, my right foot. The one that has all the pins and plates in it from tripping down the last two steps in my house. I heard the snap and knew it was broken. Towards me come the throng of onlookers, half laughing half worried. I brushed myself off, and, despite pleading from the crowd, insisted on driving it around anyway. I did okay, even though it felt like my foot had just been dragged through a threshing machine. The next day, Annika and I went to the Suburban Physician Center so I could get my foot xrayed. I wasn't sure if it was the surgical site or just my toe that got broken. As soon as we drove into the parking lot, Annika asks, "Where's the drive-thru?" "Drive-thru? What do you mean?" I asked, befuddled even beyond baseline. "You know, where you drive up your Suburban and the doctor comes out to check you." Hmmmm. Next, let's talk about the effectiveness of the Public School system. Here's some pics.
