Death By: Fourwheeler

Okay, so, just to preface this, I told this story to my family a couple years back and they had no recollection of this ever happening.

So, this oughtta be good.

Alright, setting the scene: I was seven and a halfish, and I lived in a tiny, rural town. Most kids drove a dirt bike or fourwheeler, if they weren’t illegally driving a car.

My next-door neighbors were no exception. They owned both a fourwheeler and a dirt bike, and I often watched with intrigue as they noisily revved along the street.

Obviously, they noticed my quite conspicuous intrigue. So, one day, they asked me if I wanted to ride the fourwheeler.

I answered as anyone would. “Um, yeah!”

So, I didn’t think to ask mom and dad, but, in my defense, I wore a helmet.

So I looped around the street about four or five times.

But I revved it up and started going to fast–which was, by the way, exhilarating–but I was going too fast for the turns I was taking, so the Fourwheeler tipped and I fell.

Since I was wearing a helmet (safety first, kids!), I was fine except for a skinned knee and a pair of skinned hands.

My neighbors freaked, I assured them I was fine, and I went home.

My parents noticed, asked me what happened. I told them, “I rode the four wheeler.”

They sat me down and told me that, maybe, next time I should ask before joy-riding fourwheelers.

Either fortunately or unfortunately, my fear levels have gone way up in the last eight years, so I doubt I’ll be doing anything similar any time soon.

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