A list, a list… everybody loves a list. Today I had a brand new installment in my list of Top 5 stupidest things I’ve carted across town on my scooter.
Betsy, my darling, my drafthorse. Bearer of a fool and his silliest whims. Today, #2 on that list was well and truly commanded by my latest acquisition. Let me explain.
Before I start, let me say that #1 on the list is, and will remain, me – drunk one night from the Regatta to St Lucia. Stupid as stupid, that one… And no further explanation necessary beyond the fact that there will be no recurrence of that feat, of that I’m sure…
So with that out of the way, let’s get to #2!
#6 – Last Thursday – Stink bug Snuss.
I should be incorporated into some sort of biodiversity metric. The recent rains have certainly amped up the levels of biomass on wings and there’s logic in having the number of times I get whacked in the face – eye, lip, throat – by a wing-ed thing as an indicator of insect population health. Last Thursday was somewhat different in the fact that the wing-ed thing that got trapped in my pursed lips was none other than a stink bug. No matter the speed with which the bug was flicked aside, it squirted its vile little bug sized load of stank into my gums and tongue, a most unpleasant experience at any juncture, let alone when travelling at 60km/hr on wet roads. Needless to say… nasty.
#5 – Mid-last year – Jimmy, Storm and $150 worth of groceries.
The groan and struggle was evident for the whole of the return journey from Coles. Betsy’s shocks – completely unaccustomed to having 200 odd kilos to counter – transmitted the finest nuances of every bump and pothole. Up hills, my normally timid Betsy was almost entirely subdued. 3 chocked green bags lay at my feet, coming up to the junction of the handlebars and making turning just that fraction more death defying. Groceries pushed up against the seat from within the compartment with much the same force as I imagine one who found themselves stuck in a coffin would apply. Storm, adorned with a backpack of the more brittle and fragile goods received the equivalent of 10 minutes on one of those preposterous shaking machines that people try to hawk to overweight and undermotivated souls in shopping centres. Thank goodness Storm purchased a car for future shopping (and beach) trips.
#4 – Sikh of an itchy head
Buy a helmet. Use it nigh on every other day for two years. Use it after showers, exercise, beach volleyball, heatwaves, head lousse cultivation conventions and tell me that your head doesn’t get itchy from using it. No detachable, washable inner lining? What are you going to do? Improvise… It started with a few pieces of toilet paper and moved on to paper towelling. From there, a chux seemed a step in the right direction despite the odd looks thrown my way when people driving or pedestrianising past notice flappy bits of blue blowing around the temples. When you’re riding a scooter with safety goggles and a mouth full of stank what are a few odd looks anyhoos? So it’s ended up with a turban. A black turban with a big knot right where a unicorn’s horn would protrude from your forehead were you thus endowed. A turban that must be removed in the same motion as the helmet so as not to look completely retarded. A turban that requires you to laugh at the idiocy of the guy it adorns. A washable, lovable, nit and itch free truban.
#3 – Sucky passenger
How big does a box need to be before it fails to be transportable by scooter? A fraction (only the smallest fraction mind you) larger than a vacuum cleaner it would seem. Wedged between the handlebars and destiny, the vacuum cleaner box protruded a foot either side of the bike. Guided by the fortune of the brave and pure arse, I was able to get the beast home in one piece. Now to figure out how to use it…
#2 – Can I leave this box here?
Today I bought a new set of speakers. Lovely, relatively expensive, weighty, dimensional speakers. Having negotiated a vacuum cleaner, it was hard to see from the giddy heights of my pride and ego the difficulties that could possibly arise from trying to get these badboys home. After securing the purchase and wandering to Betsy – proud, elegant, spatially challenged Betsy – I started to foresee aforementioned difficulties. Not even close. Not even close to close. For 20 minutes I wondered how the f$k I was going to get the speakers home on a scooter. I called 2 friends. I contemplated getting a taxi for my speakers. I contemplated delivery at a later date (never!). I cursed and smiled and did both in unison. Then I unpacked the box. Sure enough, with some spatial reorganisation – using skills honed through the likes of Columns, watching mum pack a car and redistributing a washing machine – I was able to fit myself and my goods upon my steed. With legs firmly clenched, and fingers metaphorically crossed – lest I not be able to steer or brake – I made my way home. But not before leaving the discarded box at the foot of a bemused music store clerk and contemplating the posting of this blog should I arrive home in one piece 🙂