The ambulance still had a lot of the original markings and working lights. Which was totally not a problem for a 17 year old boy with a history of impulse control problems. And car accidents.
We bought it because we were suddenly moving again (which is how we always moved. Suddenly and again.) and we needed something big enough to fit everything into it. Bought it with my money. Destroyed it with my driving skills.
One night, before I killed it for good, I was leaving the restaurant where I was bussing tables at the time and backed in to a Lincoln Continental. Just wiped the smug smile of its silver grill right the fuck off its face. Fluids leaking and spraying from wherever fluids leak and spray. I went inside, told my boss and found the owner at the bar. Short, bald, paunchy, cigar smoking dude wearing a brown leather jacket. A guy like that drove a Lincoln. Crazy, right? I know.
I was freaked. He was pissed. His car was 7 months old.
The kid I had been giving a ride to that night suddenly decided to find another way home which struck me as strange because the damage to the ambulance was minimal. A couple of scratches. Maybe a small dent. The front of the Lincoln was bashed in good. I mean, I think I pretty much demonstrated the fact that no matter what we hit in that ambulance, we were going to be safe. Dude couldn't take it. Shit was too real I guess, man. Too real.
It kind of hurt my feelings, if you want to know the truth. Felt like it was a direct criticism of my driving ability. What's one little accident in an almost completely empty parking lot where I probably totaled the other car between friends? Work acquaintances really, but still. I was going to let him work the lights and everything.
The ambulance's death crash came about 2 months later. Afterwards, a friend of my mother's was nice enough to give me rides for a while, but that couldn't last. I lived ten miles from work (now cooking at a seafood joint), and even further from her house. She was doing it out of the kindness of her heart and for a little gas money.
I had to figure something else out. So, I decided to buy a bike. I picked a nice, little, silver Raleigh ten speed for about 400 bucks.
Rode that thing 20 miles almost every day for 7 months. Along route 6 just outside of Cape Cod. Lost some weight. Sometimes one of the guys who worked there would throw the bike in the back of his pick-up and drive me about halfway home. Rode in bad weather and through popped tires. Went head first off the thing once and scraped the front of my helmet along the asphalt for a good five feet. Big fan of helmets.
When I moved to Boston, I eventually lost touch with my bike. Ended up selling it for pretty cheap. Haven't ridden a bike for more than 30 seconds or so in at least 15 years. That is, until this past week.
Witness the new rig:
Pretty sweet, right? Big. Pimpin'. I'm going to get the trailer windows heavily tinted and add a purple light to the undercarriage.
The kids love it and I had completely forgotten how much fun bicycling is. Makes me feel like a ten year old girl again. I can't wait to get my pastel streamers for the handle bars.
While my new ride is mad tight, y'all need to feast your peepers on this:
This one is my wife's new whip. So slick. I am filled with admiration and jealousy. Thing is the coolest bike on the block.
This summer is gonna be off da chain.
Pedaling like mad,