Tuesday, March 28, 2006
I love my son. Pushing him around in his Tonka truck is really fun. We got this wicked course plotted out in our front yard. For those of you who know our front yard, you will empathize with my gasping for air at the end of one lap. You see, the course starts at the top of the hill by our door then down a series of three rollers that are indeed superb at divying out a fair share of butterflies. The brakes must be applied vigorously. If the brakes somehow fail a rusty hand raid offers repeated stopping potential. The "hair pin" if you will, is treacherous and brings about a certain dialogue.
Ben-"Too steep, Daddy, too steep!"
Once the notorious "hair pin", if you will, is successfully navigated then a rigorous up hill sprint is required. The slope is not kind. To the immediate left is a foul looking railway tie that rudely marks a cliff's edge. Once atop the apex, the zenith, if you will, we fly down another slope which quickly leads to a pretty dope quarter pipe and yes, we will, we will bust a "fifty ninety backcorner slide n glide brokenosebone". Then, spurred on by the hefty hurrahs we sprint back up to the top, the end where I take the grass up on its offer of immediate hospitality. I need to get in shape.