Taking Back My Youth on an MGP Nitro Extreme

It was a cool spring morning which promised to become a very hot early spring day and so the mind drifts to what could be done to make this Sunday a very special one for my son and I.

Having spent most of the day before indoors playing Star Wars on the Wii, Sunday was going to be ‘outdoor day’ and I was going to be out in the fresh air, not sat in front of a television watching virtual characters battle it out on screen. No, fresh air is what I needed today and so that’s what I was going to get.

A few months earlier it had been my birthday and somebody in their ultimate wisdom had decided I was not going to grow old gracefully and bought me a scooter. Not any old scooter, but one with a particularly cool name. Knowing that I had a penchant for gadgets, they decided I needed on that summed up my love of all things ‘mega’ and ‘turbo’ and they bought me an ‘MGP Nitro Extreme’. Now, when I first saw the words on the box I didn’t really understand what it was I’d got. I thought maybe I’d been sent some kind of explosive device seeing as ‘nitro’ sounds like something we yearned for as kids.

However I soon realised that this was one of those trendy scooters with wheels so small they look like they’ve been stolen from Action Man’s tank and enough metal and rivets to show it had been engineered in the fiery depths of some Pacific Rim volcano. I was going places on this thing, and hopefully not hospital.

As it turned out, the weather never gave me an opportunity to use it and so it lay dormant in the garage waiting for a time when the sun would emerge from the clouds and allow me to go hurtling down the street like a lanky and rather over weight teenager. Oh, and wrinkly. A teenager with a skin problem that makes them look 42. You get the idea.

And the sun came out and I did take my scooter to the skate park to show those whipper-snappers a thing or two about riding one of these beasts. Except just in case it was a bit hard, I went really early on Sunday morning, realising that your average teenager doesn’t leave bed until way after midday on a weekend having spent the night before drinking Red Bull in a bus shelter.

So, I climbed carefully to the top of the ramp and holding the bars as hard as I could, I let myself tear down the slope, gravity taking hold of my over-plump frame and dragging me into the curve.

And here, dear reader, is where it went wrong.

You see, these infernal devices are pretty darn quick. They look flash because they are flash and the wheels are greased with the slickest, most frictionless material I have ever known. Before I could take a breath, I was hurtling at incredible speed towards a grassy bank wherein I narrowly missed a metal waste bin, sped off to one side and landed in a soft and slightly muddy patch.

If there was a moral to this story, it might be that people my age shouldn’t be dealing in such dangerous sports and should stick to driving 4 by 4 vehicles on highways. But that would be defeatist. Instead, I give you this.

If you do intend to be a stupid as me and ride around like a teenager on incredibly good looking technical equipment – wear a helmet. You look a lot less stupid than someone with a massive bruise on their temple!