From the time I was a yonker in the panhandle of Texas, I've always had a curiosity streak in me and luckily it hasn't caused me any bodily injury or trips to the ER yet -
heavy emphasis on the word 'yet'. There have been those occasions in my life to where I tossed caution to the wind and made some clearly bad choices without a hint of forethought or the consequences. For example, in the summer of 1990, an old Navy friend and I took our families to the Sandcastle Water Park in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to spend the entire day. Once we claimed our spot with ice chests, water jugs and towels, everyone bolted towards the multitude of water slides and the infamous Lazy River that circled the entire park. It was hotter than three piles of cat crap on a tin roof and the humidity was thick enough to warrant needing gills to breath.
Geez was it muggy!
I was standing in line to get an inner tube for the Lazy River when I spotted a very tall tower that had three water slides coming out of it. The slide in the middle was the tallest AND nobody was standing in line to get on it. Hot damn! This bad boy has my name written all over it! I informed my wife what my intentions were and she replied, "We'll pull your life less body out of the water if you survive." Oh joy, oh rapture, how thoughtful. This water slide is called the
Express and it's
60' tall. A standard three story residential building is about 30' tall, so this water slide is
6 stories tall.
By the time I climbed countless stairs to get to the platform, I had to catch my breath for a minute because
the air was a little thin up there. The teenage girl that was responsible for this slide was sitting in a lawn chair listening to her radio, chewing gum and reading what appeared to be the book
War and Peace...
damn, talk about a large book. I asked her how many other people had been on the slide that day and she replied "You're the first one today." "What time did the park open?" I asked, to which she said "three hours ago." OK, not a lot of interest for this particular slide...this should've been my first clue. While receiving instructions to cross my legs and fold both arms across my chest for a safe ride(??), I peeked over the side and noticed how small the people on the ground had become.
Where did all these midgets come from? Should I have logged a flight plan with the FAA before getting on this? Does my life insurance cover this kind entertainment and stupidity?
Just as I was about to slide my big butt over the edge, I thought to myself "This has
GOT to be the dumbest damn thing I've done in the past 30 minutes. What the Hell was I thinking?" And then, Zoom! I was off like a pair of dirty underwear! I
free fell for approximately 10-12' in which my chubby butt never made contact with the slide and when it did, I was greeted with flying water stinging the bottoms of both feet and my swim suit beginning to ride up my waist. By the time I got to the bottom, my foot stung as though I'd been zapped by a hundred bee's and I was certain that I had received a 20 gallon enema!
I did not walk or run to the toilet. I waddled like a duck while ensuring the cheeks of my butt were clamped shut tighter than a camels ass in a sand storm, because I had one helluva Atomic wedgie! My swim suit reminded me of a cheap hotel -- no ball room!!!
Once I reached the dressing room, I immediately hawked an empty toilet stall and for the next 60 seconds it resembled air strikes at a bombing range. Not only I was able to clear the entire dressing room of customers within a matter of seconds, but the maintenance crew was sorely pissed because the explosions caused the bolts from the toilet to penetrate the stall door and become wedged in the drywall. Instead of getting a standing ovation for such an athletic feat in such a small space, I was called names that could only be found in biology books.
They almost hurt my feelings....not!!!!
I have four male cousins on my father's side of the family that I spent a great deal of time with in the summer during my youth and what one of us had not thought of, the others had already done. One time we had this hair brained idea of taking the hood from an old, rusted out pick-up truck and using it for a boat.
Duh...double duh!!! Not one of us had a clue as to how we were going to transport said 'boat', because none of us had a drivers license, much less a vehicle, and the largest body of water bigger than a horse tank or stock pond was 20 miles away. It's no big secret that we were logically challenged, but that was just a minor set back - not enough from keeping the imaginations of four young guys from working over time. On the northwest side of town there was a
very steep country road that was not paved, but it had an ample supply of rocks and red clay dirt clods. Every kid in town knew it as
Clay Hill and it had claimed many bicycles and young riders that weren't up to the challenge of riding it all the way from the top to the bottom.
Oh yeah, we're gonna do this. What could possibly go wrong?
One summer while sitting under a shade tree to escape the 100 + degree heat, one of us came up with the brilliant idea of building a cart and having a goat pull us around the neighborhood. Wah-lah! The backyard automotive industry was born and construction of the cart was put into action. The necessary materials for this impending master piece consisted of two re-barb poles from a busted piece of concrete to be nailed on two 2x4's for axles, various nails and screws, a long piece of cotton rope for steering, four wheels that we
helped ourselves to from a neighbors red wagon and a couple of large cardboard boxes from the grocery store that had held cases of toilet paper. And as for brakes, that's what tennis shoes were made for. It took some time to build this car and we
had only one minor set back ---
couldn't find a goat, pig or any animal for that matter big enough to pull it.
Alright, alright, alright! It's time to give our beauty a test run down Clay Hill. We attached the rope steering wheel to the only bicycle we had that would work and proceeded to make our journey to the top of the hill. Now, comes the difficult part.
Who's going to make the first test run? Not me, I'm the youngest of the bunch and I'm not takin' an ass whoopin' if it gets busted up. One of the other boys jumped in and the rest of us gave him a mighty push. He was doing well until about half way down the hill when all of a sudden the cardboard came flying off and that's when my cousin began to really pick up a lot of speed. After a few seconds of bobbing and weaving on the rocky road, the cart hit a large rock and became airborne with my cousin flying in one direction and the cart crashing into multiple pieces into the side of a small cliff. Ah yes, Moe, Larry, Curly and Shimp have just learned what aerodynamics and drag means to even the simplest of minds.
And did I happen to mention this cart didn't have any brakes? Don't have a cart? No problem - we've still got the bicycle!
Remember, this is back in the day when kids didn't wear bicycle helmets, elbow and knee pads, and take bicycle safety classes in school. You learned how to ride a bike by busting your butt multiple times and getting scrapes on the hands and knees, but that's how it was done back then. With the help of red macuracomb antiseptic, band-aids and a little dirt we managed to survive. Ever get your pant legs caught between the chain guard and the chain?
Hurts like a bitch! It will peel the flesh.
Ok cowboy, time to saddle up and ride. My cousins felt it was in my best interest to be the first one to take the bicycle ride, so that I could feel first hand the sheer exuberance of racing down hill at a high rate of speed with the wind blowing through my hair. First of all, I had a
flat top haircut at the time so the wind blowing through my hair was pure bull. And second, the ONLY reason they wanted me to go first was because if the fat kid survives', then it'll be safe enough for them.
Wind blowing through my hair...what a crock of crap.
Ya' gotta love family. Besides, the bike was just like the cart -- no freakin' brakes!
As I was straddling the bicycle, my cousins were giving me words of encouragement while at the same time backing away from me...far away.
Note to self: Jim, you're such a dumb ass. One deep breath, a second deep breath and blast off!!! Down this monstrous hill I go, peddling faster than I thought humanly possible and gaining speed all the way. I was just beginning to enjoy this new found freedom and adventure when all of a sudden I hit a big rut in the road and was shot over the handle bars into the side of the road where I landed on a large pile of dirt covered in rocks and cactus. It wasn't one of my most gracious or stellar moves I must admit, but that was the first time I ever did a complete flip in the air without the assistance from anyone.
Fat boys can't do flips...just sayin'. Much to my amazement I actually made it further down the hill than my cousin did in the cart and the only damage I initially observed was a few needles from the cactus in my arms and pant legs. Then I looked at the bicycle...
it wasn't a pretty sight.
Somebody is gonna have a knot snapped in their ass that it'll take a dozen Boy Scouts to untie.
Wait a minute, wait a minute. Why not take the wheels from the shattered cart, bicycle frame and the one good wheel and attach all of it to that old rusted truck hood back we wanted to make into a boat? We were certain that grandmother would give us one of her bed sheets to use as a sail and besides, the wind always blows hard in the panhandle. We loved it when a plan came together. Why, we would get our picture in the paper and actually charge money for rides from kids in the neighborhood.
Ah, just for the record, our infamous 'land sailing' idea never got any further than our imaginations.
