Definitely not a babe magnet, but at that age I wasn’t interested and didn’t care.
I remember cruising around a lot in this rockin’ mobile (in my mind, in the basement, in my underwear) with the (imaginary) wind blowing through my flattop, and every station on the (pretend) radio playing either “WipeOut,” “Beechwood4-5789,” or “Witch Doctor.” No commercials.
And I’d completely forgotten about all of that until I slowly cruised through a Russian website. As soon as I spotted an Original BunkMobile, I jammed my right foot through the cardboard box brake pedal, broke the the toilet plunger dowel that served as an emergency handbrake, and I spun out on Dead Man’s Curve. With quick reflexes, I recovered in time to right-click and click “Save Image As.” No injuries, no damage; brakes are good, tires fair.
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But that was my second ride. My first ride was a chrome steel tube framed chair that hooked over the back of the front seat of Poppa Strutt’s 1960 Chevy BelAire.
The red-vinyl seat came equipped with a cloth cinch-belt, a little plastic steering wheel with a horn that Pappa Strutts dismantled before I knew that it was supposed to beep, and absolutely nothing to anchor the car seat to the car.
It was designed so that on an emergency stop, the Lil’ Roadmaster Car Seat launches Lil’ Roadmaster into the rearview mirror to prevent Lil’ Roadmaster’s noggin from penetrating the windshield. Pure efficient genius.
Which brings up a good question: Why aren’t we all dead?
[Image from here.]
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