Ahh the scooter, my weapon of choice when it came time to romantically woo females I vaguely knew. It was my chance to make an impression on two of the hottest girls my seven-year-old eyes had seen. There was only one problem – they were eight. One whole year more of experiences seemed quite the daunting comparison considering our lives had not yet seen double-digits, but this did not stop me from the pursuit.

Hanging Rock State Park was beautiful that summer. My dad and I had set out to enjoy a nice guys weekend, which was quickly invaded by the maidens across our campsite. Quite the comradery was developed between us over the course of a less than 24 hour period. By the next day things got pretty serious. A casual bike/ scooter ride (kids only) was proposed by my lovely friends. To understand the stakes of this we must realize at my age I had never traveled alone anywhere, I was always with parent. So the proposal to ride free of a superior with two smoking hot girls was not something I was going to refuse – or let my father refuse. After some persuading the old man heard my plea and sympathized with my situation. In addition to this immense decision, it was declared no extra helmets were available for the young lad on his borrowed scooter (I of course was this young lad). This was a real difficulty for my patriarch, but although he feared injury on my behalf, his trust in my handle bar maneuvering skills won the vote.

Off into the summer breeze we went. It was only within a few pedels and pushes that we made it to a large hill- the hill where I would become a legend. This hill was monstrous in my sight, however my counterparts did not see it that way. As we all stood to examine, I felt an uneasiness about the situation. The hill was too steep – even for me and my vast hill experiences. I was hesitant, and even told my companions I was not sure of my own skill level. However, I knew my pride and manhood were at stake, and this was not something I was willing to give up. I plunged ahead down the mountainous obstacle, however I knew it was not going to end well.

Once I made it to the bottom of the hill I stayed there. Mostly because I had just fallen halfway up the hill face first, and into the most pleasant section of the road where gravel meets asphalt. I could hear the women I adored screaming my name, but this time it was not out of pleasure, but sheer horror. I knew it was bad, but I dared not look. I shed a few tears while a hasty plan was devised to go fetch my trusting-in-my-abilites father to collect me from my anguish.

After an urgent care visit, and several gravel pieces torn from my face flesh, I returned to the campsite. Upon my arrival I was welcomed warmly by my harem and given two hand painted posters. The posters accurately compared my likeness with that of the hulk and spiderman, because I of course, was their hero.