Go kart, go!

Do you remember…the time that Charles made a go kart?

Oh, ha ha, I can hear you all start laughing now.

The story starts with me meeting up with the immediate Johns family down at the park. Attaching myself to other families was not a new thing for me, but it was the first time (I think) that doing this nearly was the death of me (there were most likely numerous other occasions but being a child makes you oblivious to these things and so they don’t count)

So, we met at the park on the river – it had a name, but I can’t remember it . Was it Apex park? The park was on the river, the river being down the bottom of a steep bank and then a flat bit then you hit the river itself – except when it flooded. (see prior story)

There was an old pram frame that had been kicking around between Rita Court and Wonga Court for what seemed like forever. I think it was Michael’s. By 9 years old he was too big to get in it and no one wanted to push him anyway. It had those big wheels, with metal spokes and a nice sturdy metal frame. I remember there being straps with which to leash the child to the seat. A lever in front of one wheel served as a brake when it was pulled back to rest on the rubber tyre.

Charles, being quite handy with metal things made a go kart out of it. I think this was achieved by folding the pram flat and attaching a plastic chair seat. (Thinking longer about this, I don't think it was a plastic seat. I think it was just a board.)

We gathered at the brink of the bank – the wind blew dirt in our eyes, making us squint into as we gazed impassively down the bank and at the river, glinting in the distance. What little grass was there was burnt and brown. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts… plotting the course, thinking of our loved ones, wondering what to have for lunch, where did I leave that tax form. You know, important stuff.

We looked at each other, silently sizing each other up, deciding who would be best to take on the mission of getting the juggernaut to the bottom of the bank.

It was decided. It would be me. In hindsight, I should have wondered why that was so easy and why didn’t anyone else put up their hand?

Ben was my co-pilot.

I sat in the chair on the pram chassis and grabbed a hold of the rope that was attached to either side of the kart’s front wheels. I pulled the brake a couple of times, testing it.

We were at the top of the bank so there was a good 200 meters (I think) of downward sloping hill that looked quite innocent. I should have known better – after all I had experience of this sort of thing, there was that incident involving me, Sarah Forsaith’s new bike, the boulder and the bent handle bars.

So, deep breath, ready, set, go. We launched and away we went. Things were bad right from the beginning.

There was the speed wobble, the impossible to control steering and the speed! The speed was incredible. Me and Ben were bouncing around and I think the screams started almost straight away, certainly by the time we were over the edge. We aren’t talking amusement park screams – delighted and thrilled – no. Screams acknowledging the hurt and injuries about to be inflicted on ones self were what we are talking about.

Ben bailed.

He rolled to the side and was up and off to the others in what felt like a flash – everything happens in an altered time state when tragedies occur. My scene, on the other hand was happening in slow motion – long and drawn out.

I was probably a quarter of the way down the hill when I stopped going straight and the kart started tracking towards some of the very old gum trees that littered the bank. I thought I was about to smack into one, when the kart over turned, at speed and dumped me. I traveled on for a bit before coming to lie on the dirty bank. I think there was gravel rash up both legs and arms. (It was Townsville. It was hot. I was wearing safety clothing, of course. It was a pair of shorts and a singlet).

I lay there, wondering at the pain. But that isn’t what hurt the most.

No, I learnt something that day. A couple of things actually:

Never ride in a vehicle made from a pram.

Never chose Ben as your co pilot – rat, sinking ship.

And a greater pain than any amount of gravel rash is climbing to your feet and seeing four people, barely able to stand up because they were laughing so much.

I am just glad that it was too hot in the park for anyone else to be there. I think I even had to drag the wreckage back up the hill. Talk about insult to injury.

That’s what I remember.

- danielle