... I think about Jean Shepherd's little Ralphy character from time to time, wondering if he ever graduated, to AR15s, BARs, RPGs, IEDs, 50 MMs? Underhanded, manipulative, two-faced crybaby archetype, wasn't he? After he shattered his eye glasses I thought to myself, that was likely pretty much it for the likes of him. Probably majored in accounting. Inked his CPA. Never picked up a gun, again. From my kindergarten advancing my study, Moss, Clark, Stewart, Ickx, Rindt, Hall, McLaren, Gurney, Ginther, Rodriguez, it was a tender age I set out, determined to one day make my way to Formula 1. Never got my shot at Indy, either. Life gets in the way. I wanted to be a grown-up! Cursed my childhood, every day of it! Couldn't wait to be an adult, get myself up on 4 wheels! One Christmas morning Santa answered my wish, my 3rd grade Christmas present soon to be, my very first high speed shunt, on my brand new Flexy Racer: https://onlinebicyclemuseum.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2021/11/1935-Flexy-Racer.jpg My first lesson in critical evaluation, distinction between design, craftsmanship and engineering. A thing of beauty, no two ways about it, each one numbered, handmade, Flexy Racer craftsmanship was flawless. Like horse drawn stagecoach, front wheels parallel, pivoting single focused across a solid axle, my very first lesson in spiral easement came, at a tender age: kevington hill thousand oaks at DuckDuckGo Had to have been a lawsuit that mopped up the Flexy Racer people. But, my folks were happy at full refund, ample opportunity venting at hapless toy store staff! Totaled. Split straight down the main rail, right down the center, toy store manager at Topanga Plaza, answering to my stupefied father, looked down at me like I was from another planet. Ringing out the refund, he'd never seen anything like it. Steepest hill I could find? Couldn't make the turn coming down Kevington Hill, into the K-rail I went, clearing a 6' fence, landing flat on my back, 20 or so meters onto the playground yard at my K-6 elementary school alma mater. School nurse called home. Janitor dragged what was left of my once proud Flexy Racer, to the school principal's office. Unlike beloved Ralphy, I didn't get off so easy. Until my high school, that would be pretty much it, for me on 4 wheels. Thanks to my mom, so too most every other schoolboy in town. Sometime thereafter, nice kid on the other block, gliding down the sidewalk on his, run over by a car backing out the driveway, spoiled it for postcedent generations to follow. Like someone threw a switch, most irresponsible product ever made, Flexy Racers magically disappeared from every toy store in the Milky Way Galaxy. Sad to see them go, I wanted one more shot at it, making that turn - Samuel, '04 Ruthiemobile -
