True story!
BRRRRM, BRRRRM,
BRRRRM, BRRRRM.
The noise blared out as we passed the motor tricycle ring and Deadpan stopped to watch. “Can I have a go, Dad?” he said, and, suppressing memories of past experiences on dodgem cars, I said “O.K.”. I even managed to stop myself from telling him to be careful. The things seemed to be easily controllable and there were a couple of other little kids there, though not quite as small as Grade Two.
The showie in charge gave Deadpan a helmet, lifted him into the seat, said something to him, and he was off! Straight into the hay bales at the side of the ring. He sat there looking at the hay bales and occasionally accelerated to see if his trike would go anywhere. The attendant ran across and pulled it loose, straightened it up and he was off. Deadpan was into it now and rode in eccentric circles round and round. The look of determination on his face was such that he gained the immediate respect of all of the other riders. They veered off course as he zoomed towards them and soon learned to keep out of his way.
Again, however, he drove into the wall. The showie set him right again and Deadpan BRRRRMed off! But, like the three hundred and seventy-ninth ranked Grand Prix driver, the gods of the track were against him. He snagged the power lead which traversed the track and came to a halt like a jet on an aircraft carrier. No amount of BRRRRMing could get him going again.
The showie came running out once more and tried to free the snag. Deadpan took off again but not for long. The showie tried again. Deadpan was allowed one more BRRRRM around the track until it was declared his time was up. It seemed to me that the others had been on a lot longer but I must confess I was relieved.
“That was good”, I said. “You were riding around well before you got caught.”
“I made a few mistakes”, said Deadpan.