An excerpt from my life story---The minibike

Although I can’t blame any Eddies’, I seemed to have my fair share of mishaps. My earliest recollection (I was probably about 7 years old) of such, was at the home of some of my parents’ friends. I do not remember their name, nor where they lived, but I can vividly recall the lay of the land and the look of the home. I also remember that they had at least two children. A girl who was much older than I and a son who was just a little bit my elder. This boy had a minibike.
Where I grew up, in a neighborhood, there was little knowledge of any type of motorized transportation designed for kids. Where I grew up if you didn’t push, pull or peddle it…it didn’t move. But these folks lived in the country with acreage enough to allow children to crash their motorized toys without fear of concrete casualties. A minibike is simply a very small motorcycle-like contraption usually powered by nothing more than a five horsepower motor. It doesn’t go very fast. It sits low to the ground and has a wide, cushioned seat to help aid in the balancing act performed by a little fellow as he blazes trails through the pasture.
At one of our visits to this home, the parents had all gone inside and left us kids to our own time of playing in the yard. The boy who lived here decided he would ride his minibike. So he did. Around and around the yard he went. I sat patiently and wondered if he would ever invite me to take a turn on his wonderful, motorized toy. Eventually, he pulled up next to where I was standing and asked me if I would like to take a ride. (I must at this point in my storytelling, make a confession. One of my greatest faults, which has existed since my childhood and still haunts me as an adult, is my inability to admit that I do not know how to do something. I will try to accomplish almost anything, even though I have no idea what I am doing. I guess this helps explain my fair share of mishaps). So there I stand, with an open invitation to take the reins of this motorized vehicle and head down the open trail.
So I accept the invitation. The owner steps off of the minibike and allows me to take control. I throw one leg over and plant my bottom firmly on the wide, cushioned seat. I am given instructions about the brake and throttle. The brake is simple a lever next to the left handgrip. All one has to do is extend the fingers from the grip and pull back the lever. The minbike stops. The throttle is a typical motorcycle-style throttle. To go, the rider just rotates the right grip in a backward motion. The further he rotates the grip, the faster the minibike goes. Simple enough.
So I nod, as does an F-16 pilot who has just given the deck crew permission to catapult his jet off of the deck of an aircraft carrier. I loosen the grip of my fingers holding the brake, and I increase the torque of my right wrist. Away I went. What an experience of liberation and power…for about 15 seconds. That’s when I hit my first bump in the trail. It probably wasn’t a huge hole, but it was sufficient enough to cause my right hand to increase torque beyond that which was wise. The rapid increase in speed threw my bottom of off the minibike, leaving me hanging on to both grips with all my might. My belly is on the seat, the throttle is wide open, and this demon machine is dragging me wherever it wants. Remember I made mention of how agile I was? I don’t know what the world record distance is for riding a minibike this way, but I must have come close. Eventually, the possessed vehicle did win, but only after dragging its passenger through a barbed wire fence and coming to rest in the middle of a tomato patch. This is where my parents found and rescued me. Even though I made several requests, my dad never would buy me a minibike. I wonder why?