Glory Holes, Crippled Style

After a few weeks of getting used to Henry hauling my ass around, I thought it time to give him a real test. Henry, as you know, is my power wheelchair. I've not been able to use him much because of winter snows, a brief problem with a wheel and what with work and all. But I decided that we'd take a trip over to the Royal Ontario Museum as they were displaying an original 300 B.C. copy of an Egyptian Book of the Dead. An odd destination given the events of the past few days but things happen as they do.

We struck out and I was pleased to see the sidewalks and streets entirely free of snow and ice. The wind was bracing and tore through clothing with no pity. I'm sure my erect nipples looked like chest headlights as I motored down the sidewalk. Bravely carrying on, we hit Bloor Street and began the journey over to the museum.

Now I know it's the end of winter and all, but good jumping JEEEEEhosoFat, the freaking potholes so deep it was like peering down Hell's chimneys if you dared look over the edge. At some points the pavement had pulled away from the curb cut and it took sheer bloody will, faith and a devil-may-care attitude to launch over the side. I felt like that weird guy who used to jump over 30 cars while riding a motorcycle. I looked like a frightened child teetering at the top of a playground slide.

Onwards!

Remember that slight 'dirty' thrill you'd get when you were sitting in the back seat of a car and you went too fast over a hill? YES YOU DO!! I can't tell you how many groin tinglers there were in the few blocks we travelled. I began to think the streets were designed by perverts trying to give poor cripples a thrill. It was the most fun I've had sitting down, since, since, ... well never you mind.

The other day they did a story on the news about the potholes and their effect on those of us who use motorized scooters. The woman they interviewed looked flushed, with a rosy glow to her cheeks.

Well, now I know why.

I think I might drive to work tomorrow.