When I look out the apartment window that’s near my computer, I can watch the world go by.
The world, as I now know it, consists of folks making a trip to the dumpster and folks making a trip to the mailboxes. Or maybe just folks tripping around our little village.
Many of them are tripping in little battery-powered go-karts, mechanized wheelchairs and the like.
I would love to know how many of my neighbors have these mechanical devices. I’m absolutely sure they’re a real blessing to them. If I needed one, I would certainly want one.
So far, I can get around on two legs. Sometimes they lose their balance, momentarily, but at least they work fairly well.
With a cane or something else, or somebody else, I can get up and down curbs, which really do bother me these days.
Since I know so many people, many much younger, who have hurt themselves falling down, I hope you’re being as careful as I am in guarding against a crash.
I don’t know whether the people who manage this property and take care of all our needs have a list of all the people who have mechanical wheelchairs. Probably not.
But if they did, and if I could get my hands on it, and if I could get in touch with all these riding neighbors, I would organize a race.
A Village 500. Though much smaller, of course.
My daughter informs me that all official races, like the Indianapolis 500, have only left turns. Which means they all go around counter-clockwise, I assume.
So, our competition, if we could have one, would begin at the big building, under the covered entrance way, and travel east, past the gazebo and on around the central park, headed north, then west and finally south, landing somewhere in front of my building.
People who live in all the homes facing the central park could stand, or sit, out on the sidewalks in front of the street and root for their favorites. Others could come over from the other streets.
Or maybe we would take the course all around the property, more like a Tour de France, yet finally ending up back in front of the office building, where a trophy would be awarded to the winner.
Oh sure, I’d get them a trophy myself if need be. Trophies aren’t that expensive.
All the people driving the wheelchairs could dress in fancy outfits, or create special colors, like the jockeys in a horse race.
It will never, ever happen here. But somewhere, someday, such a thing would be possible.
In the meantime, it’s kind of fun to think about
As you’re driving down the roadway, pause in a socially designated distance and greet another motorized traveler, imagining that you are rivals for a prize.