When a trashcan fights back

Jordan Mortimer

Mrs. Fraser

Creative Writing

August 26, 2015

Trash Can

            Why am I writing about a trash can? I know it’s a strange item to choose, but if I told you why I chose it, it would defeat the purpose of me writing about it. Just know this, the story behind it still makes me laugh today. It all started when my uncle and cousin askd if I wanted to go to Florida with them. My uncle, cousin and I are all really close, so when they asked I automatically said yes. It had been a couple years since I had been to Florida last, my family doesn’t really take many trips. They didn’t really like the idea of me going without them because they enjoyed the beach and thought it was somewhat unfair that I was going and they were stuck in misery, or Missouri as it’s also called. But nonetheless they said that I could go as long as I checked in with them every day. I later found out checking in was easier said than done. After a night of rushed packing and a few hours of sleep, we went to meet with my aunt and cousin so that they could take me down to their house because they don’t exactly live close. Once we met up we got a quick bite to eat and then said our goodbyes, about an hour later we were at their house. We roll up to my uncle getting things ready, loading the roof rack, setting the bikes on the rack, just getting the essential things done.

            If I haven’t mentioned already, my uncle, cousin and I are all cyclists. Mountain, road, cycle cross, we have tried it all. But we decided we’d take the mountain bikes and try to get a little trail time in.  Just so you know, mountain biking doesn’t really pan out in the Florida panhandle, due to the lack of a key element in the sport, MOUNTAINS. Maybe the trails weren’t great but the rides were, mainly because we didn’t limit ourselves to the trails. We took rides around the strip and things of that sort. We spent little time in our hotel room, even though the weather was what a tropical storm had left over and blown in. With the weather throwing out high winds it brought about high waves, our idea was, for lack of a better word idiotic, but we went to the surf shop around the corner and bought a few $5 pool rafts and ran to the beach. We would go to just before the waves would break and lay on them, flowing over the 10-20 foot waves with speed and ferocity. The current was strong but we were able to keep from being swept to sea, for the most part. After a while we noticed we were growing a crowd of people out on their balconies. I can only imagine what they were thinking, I feel it was probably something like “these idiots are going to get killed” or “wow, that is insane”. Like I said I have no idea what they thought, but quite frankly, I didn’t care. I mean, why would I? After getting slammed by waves we gave in and went back inside, got showered and waited out the rain. Later that day the rain came to a halt. We waited until around nine and grabbed our bikes off the rack. Then we just rode around for a while, jumping off stuff, riding down stairs, all sorts of fun stuff. But I am fairly hard on bikes, so naturally, I broke something. So if you’ve ever been to Destin Florida, you know that there is that bridge that crosses over into Fort Walton. We rode from our condo, across Destin, to the bridge. We then rode across and into Fort Walton, rode around there until probably one in the morning. Then we started back, riding back through fort Walton and along the roads until we reached the bridge again. We started up the bridge, and reached the top with ease then we began the decent. We were probably doing 20 mph when we got to the end of the bridge. But at the end, there was a trashcan that left barely enough room for our handlebars to pass by. As we passed my uncle yells out “trashcan” and I do the same, but my cousin comes

down and says “my cat eye says were going 23 miles per hou…” and that’s when he hit the trashcan. Hearing the load knock of the bars on the trashcan, my uncle and I turn around to the hilarity of my cousin slamming. We did make sure he was okay, trying not to laugh too hard. He was fine just a little bruised so we grabbed his bike, got him on it, and then went to get some donuts and freezes. Once we were done with our food. We went back to the condo and that’s where the story end. It may sound lame to you, but that will be a story and memory I will carry with me for the rest of my days.