Off-Road Grandfather

The Lie

Today I visited my grandparents in their retirement community. It was raining heavily when I got there, and no one was outside except a couple of twenty-something landscapers digging up a latrine. I hurried in, hunched over the box of groceries my Aunt Sharon sent with me.

Grandma, Grandpa and I chatted for a few hours, he in his big armchair next to the window, watching the gray rain that slowly cleared away as the sun peaked through. The sky remained overcast, but the world slowly dried.

Grandpa and I went for a stroll, eventually. More of a roll -- he was in his motorized chair, and I walked alongside. We navigated the air-conditioned corridors, nodding greetings to old friends and eventually coming towards the end of a residential hallway. I expected Grandpa to stop and spin around. I'm telling you, he can turn that chair like a ballerina twirling in place. It's better than an amusement park ride. But instead of using those impressive one-point turn skills, Grandpa leaned the control stick all the way forward and headed straight for the exit, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

We were free.

He took it slow, at first. We cruised at moderate speed in a semi-circle around the building, coming at last to a division in the path -- one sidewalk continued on a nice, even slope, and the other zig-zagged its way down a steep hill, running along the edge of a drop-off. Don't ask me why they have frickin' Rainbow-Road at my grandparents retirement community.

Grandpa, of course, being the mild, sensible old fellow that he is, took the zig-zagging route.

He nudged his chair forward carefully, me chewing my lip and glancing frequently at the perilous plummet to our left. I finally relax when he seemed content to merely amble, and that's when he did it. He floored the wheelchair.

You'd be surprised at how fast those things can go. Not that fast -- I kept up at a jog -- but the fact that I had to jog should tell you something. He gathered speed as we descended, then banked sharply left when we hit bottom. The chair swayed precariously. My grandpa cackled like a speed-demon, kicking it up a gear and pushing it full-throttle, wheels spinning and little engine whirring.

"Grandpa . . . ." I tried, but he wasn't listening.

A huge puddle suddenly spread out before us, flat and glinting, and he charged through it, mud swirling in his wake. Directly ahead were the two latrine-diggers. One of them was just wiping his brow and straightening up -- and that's when he saw the off-road wheelchair bearing down on him, mad-eyed racer at the controls.

They dove out of the way.

We finally pulled back up to the front of the retirement community, and rolled in. Grandma was wiping a cup with a drying towel when we reached the apartment, standing on tiptoe to put it away.

"Did you boys have a nice walk?"

"Well I dunno, Betty," Grandpa said. "I think maybe this guy goes too fast for me."

I swear he winked.

My Grandpa is cooler than your Grandpa

The Truth

Everything is true up till grandpa floored the wheelchair, although he did seem to egg in on at points. It's also true that their retirement community has the Rainbow-Road of all sidewalks.