Speaking of skate, I visited my brother while he was stationed in Hawaii. Even back then they were selling land by the frontage inch and they had strange ideas about land use. He grabbed his skate board, the original narrow steel wheeled beast maybe eighteen or twenty inches long and we went to what they called a parking lot. More like paved mountainside. It was Sunday, everything closed so we had the big parking lot to ourselves.
The goal was to skate down the mountain, basically impossible. A couple three beers to loosen up and we kept trying and falling within a few feet. We were persistent though.
Finally I managed to stay on the board, standing proud. The dry bearings were screaming, the wheels roaring on the blacktop! About three-quarter down the parking lot I realized I had several issues that needed attention. This parking lot dumped directly into a busy four lane road. Go out in it and chances were good I would be squashed like a bug. Even broadsiding something was going to be intense. Seemed like I was going about seventy-five miles an hour, probably was going half that or better! Too fast to bail onto pavement, no way I could stay on my feet. OK, I have plenty of empty parking lot to hang a right and it was comparatively level through there, some chance of survival. Of course these skate boards were lousy at turning.
I'm still picking up speed rapidly, the four lane is getting closer by the second too, decision time. I hung a hard right, or to be more accurate the skateboard did! I kept going straight. My feet hit the pavement, my head hit, my feet hit, my head hit, this happened a half dozen times or so before I started bending. I had to think it looked like a cartoon where the character is stiff as a board crashing along like that. When I finally stopped end over ending I slid, I slid a long time too. My shoes almost survived, everything else even my faithful real Lee jeans were destroyed, something generally thought to be impossible! Now we had to find some bandaging material. Fortunately he had access to Trippler, the huge military hospital. I got patched up and taped up enough that I wasn't leaving Hu shaped imprints everywhere I stopped. A few more beers and I was ready for my brother's next idea.
Somehow I survived two weeks and didn't have to be shoveled on the airplane home. I hate long distance flying so I went with my usual flight plan, a six pack preflight, two IW Harper's straight, the only whiskey they served, and I slept halfway to California. I have quit drinking so naturally I have had to quit flying too. That crap is for the birds!
Hu