WE BE DUMB, a memoir

A memoir of a brainless adventure by two young not so bright boys.

Two stupid boys by any other name are still stupid. As might be expected by the title, this is a story about making poor choices and having the dumb luck to survive despite being dim-witted. I am probably being too hard on us considering we were in our early teens at the time, and, historically speaking, people in this age group are not renowned for thinking clearly about consequences, and therefore, make pitiful decisions. At the end of the tale you, of course, will decide for yourself if we were stupid or not, but I will tell you now, stupid or not, we didn’t get caught!

 

It all started off on a typical sunny summer day in Northern California with three young lads looking for something to do. (You have got to keep teenage boys busy, or trouble will soon follow.) One of our friends that lived down the street was the envy of the neighborhood because he owned a brand new Honda 50 motorcycle, with real cool, loud, chrome exhaust pipes. His name was John, and the end of his nose was permanently sunburned to the point of imminent melanoma, as a result of all the miles he put on his motorcycle in the baking summer sun. Not only was John owner of a fine motorcycle, he was also blessed with a high degree of mechanical ability, and had a garage full of tools to put his talent to proper use. (As a result of inventing some mechanism for a car engine later in life, John became a millionaire, and now has his own auto racing team as a hobby.)

 

Another machine that John owned was the frame of a quarter midget race car. It had no brakes, no engine, and nobody, just the frame. It looked like a go-cart only much bigger. Two of the three boys that were prowling the neighborhood that day had boyhood dreams of becoming racecar drivers. We subscribed to racing magazines and contemplated the glamor and excitement of the sport. Bill actually became quite a respectable professional race car driver in later years, and for myself, I didn’t pursue that dream partially because of the experience I was about to have that very day. 

 

I do not remember who came up with the bright idea first. I know that Mike didn’t want to have any part of it. Mike often showed a higher degree of moral and cognitive development when it came down to questions of right and wrong, and many years later he continues to live up to that standard. Bill and I, on the other hand, were a little more lax in that regard, and I suspect we valued fun more than living a righteous life. 

 

We headed over to John’s house to see what was up with him, and more importantly, his quarter midget racer. Low and behold no one was home; now the stupid part begins in earnest. As I said earlier, I don’t remember who came up with the idea, Bill or myself; however, this was where Mike parted company. We decided to take the racer for a spin, after having a short debate on the possible ramifications of doing so. It would be fun to have a recording of that moral and philosophical discussion; just feel secure in knowing that we made the wrong choice, the stupid choice. Most likely we came up with some justification, for example, we were borrowing it, and John wouldn’t mind. 

 

After rolling it out of the garage and stealthily pushing it down the driveway, we headed for Greenwood Road, which was on a steep hill. (If you haven’t lost interest in reading this already, remember there are no brakes on this thing!) To get to the exciting part of the road was about a mile push from John’s house. The base of Greenwood Road narrows to a one-lane street. For cars to pass, they both needed to slow down and decide who will edge by first. At this point, the road begins to rise in elevation and has many dips, curves, and blind spots. Both sides of the road are heavily vegetated, with many driveways intersecting the road at all different angles and degrees of visibility. Part of the road had an area where the side dropped off to a flowing creek below.

 

I don’t see in retrospect what we were thinking considering the condition of the road, but I do know that we just kept pushing the cart up. Towards the top, it opened up to two lanes but had no line running down the middle. This was the place where we started thinking (thinking would be considered an oxymoron at this point) we should begin our decent. No brakes, no seat belts, no helmets, the road narrowed to one lane, the vehicle was stolen, what was in our heads? 

 

Bill wanted to drive, and I had no plan for how to survive the trip (as it turned out neither did Bill), so Bill taking the wheel was OK with me. I ended up sharing the seat with him, he was crunched up against the steering wheel, and I squeezed in behind him with my back pressed against the backrest. As we rolled forward, we quickly began gaining momentum. Bill began weaving back and forth across the road trying to slow down. Before we knew it we were tearing down the one-lane section with nowhere to go but down, and continuing to accelerate. Without speaking, we both knew that death was imminent if we did not come up with a solution, and soon.

 

Faster and faster we screamed down, hoping against hope that a car would not be coming up the hill. Finally, Bill made his move and tried to turn into a driveway that was on our right. It was about a 300-degree turn from our present trajectory. There was no way we were going to make it, and we didn’t. We managed to get about forty-five degrees of the required three hundred degrees, so we were painfully short of what was necessary. What I remember was seeing some kind of wooden fence in front of us, which we instantly busted through. The next sensation was that of flying through the air, and then coming to an abrupt stop. We landed upside down in a creek bed still in the cart, with water rushing around us. Luckily, we could both twist our heads into a position so we could breathe with considerable effort. I recall having the feeling of disbelief and a creeping sensation of kiddy joy. Through no fault of my own, I was still alive and didn’t seem to have any significant injuries. Apparently, Bill fared as well as me. 

 

The problem now, we were squeezed together tighter than two sardines in a can. We were upside down in a creek, had water up to the edge of our mouths, and we couldn’t move. Again, due to dumb luck, someone had seen us go over the edge, and before we had a chance to panic over the particulars of our situation, a man came down to the side of the creek and lifted the quarter midget off us. We both stood up unhurt, and together we and our savior got the cart back on the road. I don’t remember the man asking us how or why we had gotten ourselves into our predicament. Most likely we were both in some state of shock and some degree of partial amnesia. I knew for sure, if anyone asked me how I got myself into such a ridicules situation, I was planning on saying, “amnesia, don’t remember.” Our guardian angel got back in his car and drove away, leaving Bill and me behind with our quarter midget racer, that now had a severely bent right front wheel. 

 

We slowly pushed the damaged machine down the road toward John’s house. It didn’t roll as smoothly as it had before our unscheduled detour, and it took a while to get back to the scene of the initial crime. I wish I could recall any of our discussion on our return, but after all these years, that was to be expected. I’m sure we mostly talked about not getting caught, and what we needed to do to achieve that end. Luck continued to follow us, and we managed to get the racer back into the garage and slip away into the twilight. 

 

Now that we have reached the end of this little tale, what do you think, stupid or not? Please use ink, so I will not be tempted to doctor your vote. STUPID___ NOT STUPID___

Reviews

[Barbara Walker]

You had me on the edge of my seat! You two were so lucky that day...must have been your guardian angels working overtime! Well i was going to vote STUPID but I agree with Shelley-to say you were stupid would infer that you had a brain to work with-so you get out of that one! Can't believe you didn't get caught doing this. Great diction, syntax and imagery!

[Shelley Holt-Lowrey]

I know I read this before but guess I didn't comment. Now that I reread and I am keeper of a teenage boy myself I cringe. Really!!! Not stupid! My vote. Teen boy brains develop in a lopsided manner. That frontal lobe part which contains reason, logic and common sense doesn't fully develop until after many broken bones, windows, noses later. that more primitive thrill seeking part is what starts to develop first. Evolutionary need or God's joke on mothers I can't say but boy do I see it in my house. Oh! Great write as ever too!

[roarke]

aw, don't be so hard on yourself, it's genetics, the stupid gene factor that young males under thirty suffer through, if they live.
Stupid/not stupid, ah poor Horatio, that IS the question.....
fun story, I'd like more description of the vehicle and it's supernatural draw on that S-gene. The story also needs more detail of those moral discussions before and after the downhill heat (if your amnesia isn't still acting up...) that will add more dimension and age flavor.
lol, I assume there was still a quarter of the roll cage still left on the frame....
Poster boys for wearing helmets.
Adventure is your middle name Z.