I would like to tell you a story called "Too Much Front Brake."

As he promised, the salesman called Tuesday while I was at work. I told him how I basically sold myself on the idea, "But it's a lifestyle change, and I want be sure this is something I would enjoy, but I need more than a couple minutes in a parking lot on a scooter."

So he told me to come by after the shop had closed for the evening and he and I would go for a ride together.

Sounds great, right?

I pulled up behind the shop and he had two scooters waiting: the one I would be buying and a cheap used one for, you know, just in case. He quizzed me on all the buttons, where the gas and each of the brakes were, and we drove out of the shop towards Piedmont Park.

We zipped through the little house-lined streets adjacent to the park. We came up on a stop sign and I began breaking, but it wasn't breaking as fast as I wanted it to. I don’t know what exactly happened: I think I used too much front brake and not enough back break, or maybe the wheel turned while I was using the front break, but in any case I laid the bike down, which is slang for wiping out.

Eating pavement.

Sprawled out on the road with the bike on top of me.

I tried to get up as quickly as I could, but my left foot and ankle were trapped under the 200-something pound machine. The salesman ran towards me, "What happened?"

"Too much front brake. Too much front brake," I stood there on the side of the road, doing my best Rain Man, "Definitely too much front brake."

"Are you okay?"

I pointed down to my leg and then shrugged, "I'm stuck," I said matter of factly. "I can't move my leg."

So he pulled it off of me and I gingerly put my foot down, and was surprised there wasn't any pain. I alternated each ankle and gently stood on the tips of my toes, and my foot was fine. My shirt and jeans were bloody and we quickly saw that my hand was bleeding where I tried to catch myself.

We stood there on the side of the road looking at each other and trying to figure out what to do about my hand, which was filling up with blood. I looked towards the front yard of a house to see if there is a leaf I could use, and he sort of looked at his shirt, tugging at the bottom and debating if he should offer it or not. However my hand wasn't cut or gashed, it was just missing several layers of skin.

"Just stick your hand in your pocket," he said. "Let the pocket soak up the blood."

So I did.

"Omigod, you're shaking."

"I shake naturally," I said, trying to play it off. And my hands do naturally shake, but it's much closer to a subtle quiver. Here I was standing wide-eyed and my whole body was shaking--my hands alone were jumping inches without my consent. "I always do this," I tried again. Yeah, if I had Parkinson's.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're shaking pretty badly."

"I'm fine," just really, really horrified. Thankfully, there were only two witnesses: the salesman and a guy walking his dog.

"Well if you want to climb on the back of mine..."

"Nope."

"You want to keep going?"

"Yup."

"Are you sure?"

"Yup." I stuck my hand in my pocket again so I could keep the amount of blood on the handle bar minimal. We took off again and I slightly panicked when I saw his left turn signal which would put us on Ponce.

Ponce de Leon during rush hour traffic.

There are several main veins in Atlanta: Peachtree Street, Piedmont Road, North Avenue, and Ponce de Leon Boulevard. This was it--real riding on a real road. With real cars. Like a white Malibu, for instance, who had no problem getting right up behind me.

I hate you, white Malibu.

We pulled into the shop and he led me directly into the bathroom where I ran my hand under the faucet until the black and red skin turned soft pink. Now that the ride was over, I began to shake again like I did right after the accident. My knee began to throb and felt puffy under the thin veil of my blue jeans. My shoes were missing entire chunks of leather.

"Look at you," he said half-laughing, half-concerned.

"Now we drink until I stop shaking," I informed him.

It took about four beers.