Intel's Ronler Acres Plant

Silicon Forest

Friday, May 8, 2015


35 mph Razor scooter crash

I am in a big building, three or four stories tall, the size of a large high school. It's laid out in similar fashion with hallways and large rooms. It's some kind of research center and I work there. One of my co-workers has to go to another facility a short distance away and wants to know if I can give him a ride. Sure, we can take my bike, and I look around for my Shoei motorcycle helmet. "We're going on your motorcycle?" he asks. When I reply in the affirmative he tells me we need to tell Bill Abernathy. This is a name of a guy I knew in high school in real life, and sure enough when we catch up to him, it is the same, extremely neat, crew cut individual. He's packing up his gear. He has a big, soft sided bag full of compartments for all his stuff which he is dutifully stowing away. It looks like he is packing for a camping trip. We aren't going camping, at least I don't think so, but he is being organized and efficient, so he should be done soon.  There are several other people there and while we are waiting for Bill to finish packing we fall into conversation with them. I make some crack and one of them responds that that is just the kind of thing you hear in California, where upon he launches into an examination of the foibles of the clothes conscious Californian, how "cargoes" can't abide "Dockers" or some such. "Cargoes" being men who wear cargo shorts. The argument seems to depend on the color or the existence of extra pockets, I start to ask for a magic marker or some blue paint so I can fix the color. But then I realize Bill should be done packing, and we need to get a move on. I turn around and find that Bill is eating his brown paper bag lunch. Whatever, we need to go, but now there is another problem. How are we going to bring Bill's four dogs with us? If they were toy dogs we could put them in our pockets, but they aren't, they are good, doggy sized dogs. This is made slightly more difficult by the fact that Bill is going to be accompanying us on his Razor scooter. Well, two dogs can ride on the saddlebags, and one might be able to ride perched on the engine, which is inexplicably mounted out in front of the front wheel of my otherwise normal Triumph Bonneville. Or we can clip a lead between the harnesses of two dogs and I can put the lead over my shoulders and carry two dogs dangling that way. The dogs may not like it, and it would be a bit of a strain on me, trying to steer the bike with this load on my shoulders. But we never get to that point, because how are we going to accommodate Bill on his scooter? I suppose we could tie a rope between the scooter and my bike and pull him along that way, but how fast can one of those scooters go? It all becomes just too much, visions of the front wheel of the Razor getting caught in a rut and throwing the whole thing on its side and Bill along with it are not encouraging. That is all.

No comments: