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Peninsula Daily News Port Angeles, Washington Copyright 2000 Eric Rush www.ericrush.com |
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I didn’t have a scooter when I was a young kid. I went straight from trikes to two-wheeled bikes. But neighbor kids had scooters, so riding them wasn’t something completely alien to my experience. Fifty years alien maybe, but not completely. I’d planned to rent a bicycle on my next layover in Manhattan, but when I looked at scooters in a bike shop window, I rationalized that only four days of bike rentals would pay for one of those aluminum speedsters on inline-skate wheels, so I bought one. What was once a child’s toy is enjoyed by adults, too. Injury rates are higher for children, even though they don’t have as far to fall as adults, or maybe because they don’t have as far to fall. The prospect of a long dive to the sidewalk probably makes adults more careful. I spent a few extra dollars for front suspension. The twin coil springs would smooth rough spots in concrete and asphalt. As the young man in the bike shop rang up the sale, I mentioned that it would fit in my suitcase. “Oh, is this for you?” he asked. I don’t know why he seemed surprised. I’d seen lots of adults on them. I didn't dare play test pilot on the crowded sidewalks or streets of Manhattan, so I slung it over my shoulder by its handy carrying strap and walked to Central Park. Two things I realized right away. One is, some expansion joints in concrete sidewalks are about as wide as the scooter wheels. If you drop the front wheel into one instead of crossing at an angle, the wheel stops instantly and so does the scooter. You don’t. Survival Rule #1: Don’t roll faster than you can hit the ground running. The other thing I realized is, scooters are darn good exercise, especially for the quadriceps, those big muscles on the front of your legs just above your knees that you probably didn’t know you had. Even though every third kid and several adults were on similar scooters, people looked at me strangely, and, after checking to see that my shorts were zipped, I couldn’t figure out why. In no time, I was farther north in Central Park than I’d ever been, alone on broken asphalt paths in unmanicured woods so dense I couldn’t see any buildings or the sun. A young man walked by and I asked directions to the north end of the park, and he asked about my scooter. He wanted to know if it was big enough for me, which it just barely is. He was impressed by the springs. If the asphalt had been smoother, I’d have let him try it out. Later, on my way back south, threading carefully between people of all ages on foot and on every sort of unpowered wheeled conveyance imaginable, a small boy pointed at me and yelled, “I have one of those!” I yelled back, “Everybody has one of these!” I didn’t see any other scooters with springs, though, so I thought I had the coolest one on the block. Until I rolled up behind a man walking down Fifth Avenue with a small boy riding a scooter beside him. The boy’s scooter didn’t have springs, but the wheels sparkled with red flashes as they rolled, just like those sneakers that flash red with each step. I didn’t have the coolest scooter on that particular block after all. As I rode the hotel elevator up to my floor, scooter folded and slung over my shoulder, sweat trickling down my face and the muscles in my legs twitching, a man about my age asked how I liked the scooter. I told him. He said his wife had just bought one, but he hadn’t tried it yet. And I finally figured out why people looked at me funny. Sure, I’d seen other adults riding the little scooters, but I hadn’t seen anyone within 20 years of my age on one. Too bad. They must have grown up too soon. |