WARDROBE MULFUNCTION

Woe is Wulf! The rallying catch cry of all the couch potatoes everywhere 'Sports are unhealthy!' is once again proved to be true. The first Sunday of my holiday I have gone rollelblading. Now that my brother had purveyed the missing axle bolt from Melbourne where it had been assembled atom-by-atom by nanite-macroassemblers, or so one is led to believe, judging by the availability, if not the price.

Wulf has been clocked at up to 37Km/h and on that day the telemetry recovered from the black box indicates that at the time of the wardrobe malfuncion Wulf was traversing the landscape at least around 30Km/h. This conclusion is drawn from the telemetry data that has just recorded the Wulf chassis reconfiguration from 'Look at me, I am casually accelerating, sporty and fit like...' to 'Look at me, I am moving at a hasty pace, somewhere between `faster that a walking elderly citizen and not quite as fast as a bike in a full flight, yet benefiting from aerodynamic low profile`'. One moment, the cockpit tapes record the eyeballs feeding a casual scenery of a sunny Sunday morning with the rest of the cognitive functions randomly causing endorphins to leach out into the cortex et all... the next moment, testicles retract in an emergency stowage position. Naturally at this point in time, the rest of the body is beginning to realise that something bad is happening, since the primary cognitive organ (ie: The testicles) have reacted. A few milliseconds later, the reminder of the nervous system received feedback that the expected propulsion sequence from the right motive section has been interrupted. What happened afterwards was reconstructed from the eyewitness testimony and careful forensic analysis of the wreckage. It is clear however that at some stage the entire Wulf became airborne, albeit for a short time.

Now, I have carefuly examined the Wulf specification and nowhere I had found any reference to airborne capability. At least, not one that ends with anything but a splatonic onomatopea. In anticipation of the imminently termination of the brief flight, the front manipulators have extended to cushion some of the impact.
The next thing Wulf remembers is a guy in a white coat looking rather surprised.

'WTF are you doing here Wulf?', the impractically attired gentelman asks.
Wulf, in his trademark quick witted style, replies 'Uhg... my head...'
'You are in the wrong place...', the gentelman consults his PDA with a look of concern.
Wulf at this time is somewhat more coherent, regaining most of his cognitive ability by now and states eloquently: 'Whoa...'.
'You are not due for another two thousand years, anyway ...', the guy in white says, tsk tsking.
'Cool', Wulf states once more, putting all the bards and poets of all the ages past and future to shame with his grasp of the language.
'We will have to fix this...' the guy whips out another device, which looks clearly similar to a Portable specific time-space continuum manipulator, only this one does not require the entire output of the universe to power it. Clikety clak and Wulf finds himself eight months in the past, deciding inexplicably, spontaneously and of his own free will totally unprompted to equip himself with an enire set of crash guards, body armor, helmets, wizardly charms and other protective devices, all designed to lessen the chance of bad hurties when inevitably Mr.Bitumen says hello.


Thus, when the crash occured all Wulf said was 'WHOMPH' accompanying a unique yet fearful sound which was as my friend G. once eloquently and observantly stated all those years ago, 'The sound that Wulf makes when he falls is like a side of beef hitting the concrete'. Thanks to all the mirth provoking body armor all the injuries that Wulf has suffered were 4 patches of nasty road rash, and a small cut above the boot and on the small finger of the left hand (wearing bike gloves which got compromised). All in all, over $800 in body armor has just repaid itself with interest. Had Wulf not been wearing any, the knees and elbows would have been boned with possibly a nasty face/dental injury had the chinguard not taken the blow.


Here is the culprit of the crash. The shoelace got entangled in the third wheel of the righ drivetrain bringing the whole thing to an instant stop. The right photo is the rip in my rollerblading pants. Quite tough canvas shorts, torn like tissue in the crash, a testimony to the energy of the impact. Marvel mirthfuly at the motorcross knee guards, looking particularly silly to any who have not had the joyous experience of pressing their naked flesh onto the file-like surface of bitumen and dragging it along the ground until interesting bits begin to show.

I was uncharacteristically lucky, not only because of my minimal body injuries, but also my phone has been merely scratched rather than smashed to bits, some of the impact absorbed by a squashed Gatorade bottle.

Lucky day for me, bought three cross lotto tickets for the New Years draw.

LINK OF THE DAY

What happens IRL when luck runs out