at 42 years old I just second guessed myself as I was about to step on the maniacal contraption brought to my youngest son by old saint nick himself, this ankle breaker is something that in the past I would have merrily carried to the top of K-2 and shredded downhill while screaming yeeeeehaaawww mother lovers.
Something stopped me from even attempting to ride this from the garage to the mailbox, a mere 75 feet.
As the oldest of three knuckle headed boys, I and my bruvs have over the years perpetually challenged each other to do the wild and the crazy. As a group we have always sought the opposite of normal and try to find those abnormal experiences from our adventures. We have done the following without hesitation:
When hiking the Jacks River trail in the Tennessee Smokey Mountains, we would follow the trail for about a mile then seek the gnarliest and deepest off the map route to hike, even though we coursed through brush so thick we would be cut and scarred for weeks. No problem.
When snow skiing we would take the lift to the extreme top of the mountain, say hello to God then shred our way down off the marked trails through terrain better suited for mountain goats. No problem.
Once in Atlanta, Ga. my middle brother and I rode and broke wild horses so raw that we wondered if we would ever father children, we both did. No problem.
I myself have snorkeled with an open wound 100 yards offshore in shark infested waters here in Florida. No problem.
Once in a Ft. Lauderdale bar I told a member of a biker gang to "Go fuck himself" while his cohorts were in shouting distance. No problem.
This list could go on for days so to spare the prose and bullshit I will end it here.
The point is that I stopped myself dead in my tracks and actually thought about what I was doing, damn does that make me a member of the sensible middle aged majority?
Crap, life comes fast and furious, my advice to anyone still wet behind the ears - GO FOR IT. before you know it you will have less hair and more common sense.
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| Panorama, BC. The top of the mountain. 1997 |
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| Jacks River, Tennessee Smoky Mountains. 1998 |
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| The Ripstick aka the plastic contraption that put the fear in me. 2011 |
You kinda grown a bit of common sense as you get older, huh!?!? I guess knowing how much it will hurt if you fall off... ;-)
ReplyDeleteMy nephews have a Ripstick -- always wondered what that thing was.
ReplyDeleteThe next time I am in AMI -- perhaps April?! -- I'd like to meet up for a drink or three. I'm serious. I'll be the very white, freckled one getting off the free trolley. I'll keep in touch about it, but it's a 75% "go".
:-)
Pearl
No Ripstick for me but I'm still quite adept on my skateboard. I ride it next to my daughter's bike. She constantly berates me for not wearing a helmet.
ReplyDeleteYou sound like one of those guys who use to take my lunch money away in junior high school.
Oh dear, I had to cancel an INK appointment today (from my nephew Rob, who is moving to Oz on Monday!) 'cos I have the 'flu! I nearly went, but I didn't want me passing out in a big sweaty heap to be the last image he had of his Uncle Marty! My 'sensible side' kicked in! He's determined to do it on Sunday, hours before his flight!
ReplyDelete(42? What a child!) :¬)
Ponita - and how will the bills get paid if I can't work.
ReplyDeletePearl - Hurry, the wee umbrellas are on back order
The UB - NO WAY, my bruvs and I were the ones who would take back your stolen cash and give you back 85% of it.
Map - Sweaty heaps that pass out in ink shops get penis tattoos on their faces, not good. Feel better, drink whisky.
Jacks River is calling our name Baj. Lets do it!
ReplyDeleteGlen the hen - Get your ass home and then we can seek out those woodland banjo players in the mountains of Tennessee.
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ReplyDelete