I hate falling down the stairs. I guess I’m supposed to dislike that￼. ￼What would it mean if I really liked it? it’s not so much the falling that hurts so bad, it’s mainly when you hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs. So I think from now on I’m going to fall up the stairs because it’s much easier on the body.
When we were kids I’m sure we all rode a cardboard box down the stairs. We didn’t think about what would happen at the bottom, we just knew it would be fun. And it was, until somebody made an elevated turn and walked right in front of the bottom of the steps. That was not a good day.
￼￼￼We did the same thing on our bicycles. Every Saturday morning every kid in the neighborhood who had a bike would ￼go to the top of a street nearby which had a very steep incline and race to the bottom. We didn’t think any cars would be coming but just in case we had one guy at the bottom to yell if there was a car. The truth is it was too late by then anyway. There was no stopping the bikes.
Fortunately no one was hurt and it really was a lot of fun. Then the parents found out about it and ruined the whole thing￼￼￼. One day I wrote down that steep incline by myself and at the bottom I turned right instead of the pedal really hard to get to my house. I never made it the gooseneck on my bike snapped like a dried￼ twig. I had scrapes and bruises, but that’s all. ￼￼They never replaced my bike because￼ I was￼ a maniac. I am no longer a maniac, because in your 60s they simply call it￼ eccentricity. Suckers!