I bought rollerblades about three years ago. Shortly after buying them, we went up to Whistler (in the summer) for the weekend, and brought our blades. We set off on a paved trail through the trees. Everything was going swimmingly until the trail began sloping downward. And kept sloping downward.
As anybody who's learned how to rollerblade knows, the tricky bit is stopping. I couldn't stop. Not at all. So, I'm hurtling down this slope, gathering speed and thinking about Newtonian physics. There's no end to the hill, and I'm not getting any slower, so I make the only choice I can: I bail.
Knowing what I know now, I would have tried to bail forward onto my knees, letting my knee pads bear the brunt of the fall. Instead, I kind of sat down.
The road rash ran from my waist to my knee. I spent the next twenty-four hours in bed. It wasn't pleasant. Here's my knee pad:
Check how I scraped all the paint off that screw. Cool, huh?
Not that I was particularly tempted to strap on the skates again, but soon after I went to Ireland. Dublin, predictably, is full of cobblestones. And narrow sidewalks. And kooky drivers.
This is a very round-about way of saying that I've started rollerblading again. I've started on the very flat, very spacious seawall that runs around Vancouver's False Creek. I've been about a half-dozen times, and so far there's been no trauma.