Sunday, June 22, 2008

- Rebel Without a Clue

Ok. Although AD just bought him a big ole bike for travel and what not, I've not yet made the plunge myself. I don't really know anything about motorcycles, and have only ridden a dirtbike a few times as far as experience with them goes. So imagine my surprise when one of my moms orders one of these:








Yeah.


Well, it finally came in yesterday. We put it together, fueled it, oiled it, hooked up the battery. Mom had a very little amount of ride time in her past but was able to helmet up, hop on, twist the throttle, and zoom off down our neighborhood street. By this time, I have a bunch of James Dean and Marlon Brando images running through my head. I run inside, throw on some jeans, and get ready to twist the throttle. How hard can it be? It's just a moped. Right?






I should've known this was a mistake.

I did real good, at first. Mopeds are not that complicated. I enjoyed the breeze and sensation of zipping up and down the road in front of our house. I got confident....real confident. You can see it on my face. Look at this sexy hunk of man-meat. That's right, ladies, he's single!








Yes, I am ugly, and not well proportioned. Damn you, cheeseburgers and nature.

Well, I did real good, and was smiling, and was happy, which basically shows fate a big flashing neon sign that reads "Mess with This Guy".


I did not dump the moped in the road.
I did not dump the moped in traffic.
I did not run a stop sign and get creamed.




I dumped the moped in my carport.


Anatomy of A Disaster:

1. Left over from my application of oil to the moped, a slight slick was left on the surface of the carport.

2. I am an inexperienced rider.

3. My helmet was not fullface.

4. A little too much speed coasting in.

5. Tennis shoes, no grip.



As I come into the driveway, I managed to slow down OK, but am probably still going too fast - in this case, probably 1 mph instead of 0.5 mph. As I pull in, my shoes slip in the oil and the moped tips me over at a 45 degree angle, right into the picket fence. I am going 1 mph, and everything is in slow motion. I flashback to every bad motorcycle wreck I've ever run, and realize the guys that make it through OK usually have riding jackets, full face helmets, leather pants, heavy boots, and, oh yeah, usually know what they're doing. I, on the other hand, have on:




Old T-Shirt
Cheap Jeans
Tennis Shoes
Underwear, now soiled.



And of course, my helmet. As I rhythmically konk my head on each picket of the fence (konk...konk...konk) I realize that I'm too far over to be able to reach the back brakes, and that each time I try to squeeze the front I'm twisting the throttle. I cannot stop this bad dream, this death at one mile per hour, and just want to close my eyes until it is over.




I flounder helplessly, a prisoner to my own incompetence, and finally, the nightmare comes to an end. I never did actually manage to find the brake, but my dead weight body has managed, through friction, to stop the runaway scoot-scoot. My helmet emits one last konk as I wheeze to rest.




I sigh, stand up, and inspect the damage. My mouth is bleeding, and realize that my upper lip got caught on the handlebars as I went down. My jeans are ripped up pretty good, and my elbow is pretty scraped.




Oh no, I think, mom saw the whole thing! She gets so emotional! She's gonna freak!




I walk inside to my my mom, down on her knees, hand clutched to her chest, face red, unable to breathe.

Shit, I think, it's the big one.

As I step closer until the living room, I realize that Mom is not having the big one.

Mom is laughing so hard she cannot maintain sufficent oxygenation to stand up.

As the last little shards of my self-esteem crumble to bits, I grab a paper towel and try to wipe the blood up from my arm.




"Why....why...hahaha, hoo! Why didn't you STOP HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"




FINAL DAMAGE REPORT:

1. Road Rash where my jeans opened up: two scrapes on my right knee.
2. Laceration, one inch, to the right elbow.







3. I'm sure there's a medical term for this that I don't know: it's the little piece of flesh that connects your upper lip to your gums. Well, I no longer have one. It is completely gone:


4. The bike got some paint scraped onto it, which wiped off with some serious sponging.

5. Dignity has not yet returned,.

As I shower out, gingerly touching my upper lip, memories of my wretched scooter abortion still fresh in my mind, I think:

Man, I've got to get one of those!

I walk out to head over to the LAEMT conference, I say goodbye to my mom.

"See you later!" she says. "Oh, and MM?"

"Yeah?"

"Drive safely! BWAHAHAHAHAH!"

-MM

13 comments:

Rogue Medic said...

Laughter is the best medicine.

You need to teach this to AD.

It is great to have a mother with a sense of humor. :-)

Loving Annie said...

Ouch. I would go to a doctor quickly about number 3 - I think you need the thingy that connects your upper lip to your gums.

Bertha said...

Now I want a moped.

Kate said...

Oh my gosh... what's up with all the bloggers getting hurt and posting pics of their injuries? I guess I'll have to jump on the bandwagon and post pics of mine.

That lip thing looks awful! You're mom's reaction was priceless! Thanks for sharing.

rookie bebe said...

The only thing that would've made it better, is your mom with a video camera.


Thanks for the laugh this morning! Glad it was just a moped.

Mama Mia said...

OMG, you just killed me!!! That was *hilarious*! And it is your frenulum you lost - don't worry - you don't need it.

Thank you for making me laugh :)

Ambulance Driver said...

ZOMFG!

Dude, you broke your frenulum!

Ian said...

my advice

is to get a proper bike with the proper gear.


not one of those new scooter things.

and some training.....

Chris in SE TX said...

Well, I hate to say it, but it will be quite a while before you're ready to fill AD's boots....

Just sayin', is all....

.... and....

You know, they have little electric scooter, might be best if you started out with one of them.... Toys R Us has a sale!

Sorry, I couldn't help it. I work with assholes and I think I picked it up from them.... no, wait.

I think they picked it up from ME!

Anyway, sorry to hear about your blood shed. Please, PLEASE, tell us at least it wasn't a 50cc...

Love your blog!

Keef's Gurl said...

hahah! Sorry, I'm not laughing AT you, I'm....well yeah, I AM laughing at you.

It's called a frenulum. The thing tht connects your lip to your gum, that is.

elizabeth said...

i just cried and peed my pants a little... we work together 72+ hours a week together, so how have you never told me this story?

MadDoc said...

it's a frenulum. As a bloke you have two. Try not to get them confused.

MJ said...

I know this is an old post, but I just found your blog. I have really enjoyed reading your posts, then got to this one. I started laughing and my husband was looking at him funny, so laughing so hard I am leaking tears, I shared with him. Thanks for sharing you near death by picket fence.