Going Nowhere Fast

One year ago today I was in pain. A lot of pain. A lot of self-induced pain.

A year ago gas was $4 a gallon and rising. I was (and still am) driving a Jeep Wrangler that gets about 13 miles a gallon in the city. The five miles I drove to my office on Music Row completely qualified as city driving. So did any short trips to lunch or the local Home Depot, which is three miles away.

After a good bit of consideration, I decided it was time to "go green." I was going to buy a gas-powered  scooter to ride to the office on days when it wasn't raining or that I didn't have to meet someone beyond a 10 mile radius of Music Row. (OK, exchanging one gas burning vehicle for another isn't exactly "going green," but I figured 70 miles to the gallon was a heck of a lot more green than 13 miles to the gallon.)

My wife, Leigh, wasn't nuts about the idea and told me so. My brother-in-law, Clayton, a physician's assistant, didn't like the concept either. I proceeded with my plan anyway.

I crashed the scooter on the test drive. 

Two weeks later the company I worked for told me they were closing the office I had intended to ride my scooter to.

A year later my broken collarbone has healed, albeit with a noticeable bump that I'll probably never lose, and so has my broken nose. My right ankle, which was initially diagnosed as severely sprained, has undergone surgery and months of physical therapy. 

Twelve months after the accident I finally feel better, but the damage I did will probably mean arthritis in my later years.

Who knew going green could be so painful?