I Crashed a Moped and Hurt Myself

Most bad ideas start with what seems like a good idea. This is one of those stories.


My roommate decided a few weeks back that he needed to buy a moped off of a stranger on the internet. While this could clearly go a number of ways, I was on board because a small scooter to carve around town sounded like a very reasonable and fun purchase.


The search lasted until this past weekend when he arranged to pick up his new chariot, a VIP Future Champion, from a lady and her two children who were evidently not aware that we were coming to take away their father’s “motorcycle.”

I was more than willing to give my roommate the 45 minute ride out to her house because it meant I would also get to watch as he rode it all the way back home on a day with an 80 percent chance of rain.

While his ride home was certainly humorous to watch as he got to grips with his new hog, we arrived back home largely unscathed.

This is where, I’ll freely admit, I made my first of many mistakes of the day. As soon as we arrived back home, I was so excited to have a go on the new toy that I immediately asked to ride it down to the gas station less than a mile from our house.


My roommate kindly obliged, I strapped on a helmet and set off in pursuit of a green tea and a good time, but as I obtained my tea and snapped the picture seen above before jumping back on to ride home and I immediately felt something was off.

I wasn’t sure if it was me or the bike, but for some reason we just weren’t getting along the same as the way there. I was close enough to home that I wasn’t genuinely concerned.


That was, until I arrived at a slight right-hand curve. I realized as I leaned in that I was going a little quickly for this corner, let off and went to go scrub some speed with the brakes.

I’m not exactly sure what happened next, but the rear wheel locked suddenly and shot the scooter hard left into the concrete median, sending my face straight into the pavement at approximately 30 miles per hour.


I slid on the pavement in my shorts and t-shirt for what felt like 30 minutes, before grinding to a halt about 10 feet away from the wrecked scooter.

Amazingly enough, I immediately stood up and realized I was no longer wearing my helmet, which had come off after the initial impact.


I turned around to pick up the bike and saw a car coming the same direction I had been heading. As the driver lowers his window, I ask “Am I okay?” just before feeling the blood start to drip from my chin.

For the most part, I am okay. By the grace of some higher power, my injuries were purely flesh wounds. 12 stitches above my right eye and road rash scattered generously across my body certainly have me sore, but I cannot help but be thankful for no broken bones, no concussion and for not, as the doctor administering my stitches so eloquently put it, “turning into a Cabbage Patch Kid.”


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