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The Olympics are in full swing and I’m spending a fair amount of time in front of the TV watching young athletes on the move. It makes my once bouncy muscles and bones ache.
When you’ve been slowed to a hobble by legs that once could run, jump, and leap with the best of them, it’s difficult to keep your fairly bobbled sense of humor. Luckily, I’ve never been able to be depressed for more than ten minutes or I’d be miserable.
At intervals during the TV hours, I’ve seen commercials for electric scooters for those unable to zip around much on their own power. I’m sure you’ve seen them – people going about town, and in their own homes, happy as kids on their first bikes.
Much as I would have liked to jump to the phone and order material on the equipment, I resisted. My daughter, however, called for me and informed me that a company representative would be ringing my bell in two days.
Voila! Last Tuesday, at 2 PM a very nice young man showed up at my door with a briefcase full of material, a video, and ways winning enough to sell not only a refrigerator, but also a sun room to an Eskimo.
He really impressed with his ability to make my VCR work in two easy moves, while giving me a lesson in how to do the same. The video was short and well done. It was mostly enthusiastic endorsements by apparently very satisfied and happy riders.
The questions he asked me were pertinent. They dealt with my personal needs. How limited was my life on a walker with wheels in the front and tennis balls on the back? Was I able to drive a car and did I have one? Were there things I wanted to do and places I wanted to go? By the time I answered everything truthfully, it was apparent that a scooter would change my life a lot – for the better.
Then came the financing. The price was not cheap, but their financing was in-house and adjustments and accommodations would be made to suit my shaky budget. I wouldn’t be able to get any help from insurance because I can walk with a walker. If I were confined to a wheelchair insurance would apply and when I said a deal would be impossible, I was assured things could be worked out and, by gosh, they were, reaffirming my faith in family owned and operated businesses.
When a choice of color was made, my friend went out to his pick-up and, next thing I knew, he was driving the scooter into my living room.
I’ve had a good amount of experience in grocery and department stores, in electric scooters. The first time I drove one, I had a slight accident. I backed into a display rack of bicycle license plates. They were metal and made a terrible racket falling down. Nothing was damaged, thank goodness, so I didn’t have to buy 20 plates with every name from Ann to Zack. Since then I’ve had a few minor mishaps like getting tangled with the chrome front on a dairy case. All in all, I’ve done pretty well, even earning compliments from store clerks.
My buggy has the cheery name, “Rascal”. It’s features are impressive; big front light; turning lights fore and aft; two horns; a “fuel” gauge so you know when to charge the two batteries, which have a riding range of 25 miles per charge; a speed indicator to control the mph of 5 miles; a seat designed by orthopedic and cardiovascular physicians; the seat goes up and down hydraulically so one can reach items on top shelves; a front basket and a drink holder. I’ve bought two accessories – a bigger front basket and a “monster bag” for the back of the seat. There are other items available, including a folding ramp to run the scooter into a pick-up truck without disassembling and reassembling it. That remarkable routine took three minutes but I know I’ll need lots of help in that department.
I’ll have my little Rascal in three weeks and I’ll be practicing my first runs to the library and the convenience store down the road. More later. Keep your fingers crossed that I can avoid some goofy happening as is my want.
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