Bomb Proof

Along with almost every other man I have ever known, to some extent or another, despite being Martian, we all grow up. A bit. When I was fifteen, I thought I was invulnerable. I took absurd risks, rode motorcycles too fast, fell off a few times and just got up afterwards. I skied bumps the size of haystacks and to hell with the rocks on either side. Now, considerably older, the thought of this kind of adolescent foolhardiness fills me with a palpable fear of getting hurt. Risk management seems to develop bigger margins and the confidence of living on the edge is replaced with rather more sober appraisal.
Doing doughnuts on the sand in one’s car is a pastime here which, along with wheelies on the freeway the young appear to enjoy, usually at four in the morning. The contestants shown have very probably had to endure a little parental finger-wagging – this image shows the result…

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2 thoughts on “Bomb Proof

  1. There's nothing like a little pain to cause a reassessment of one's current measuring stick a la risk. Mind you, there are two sorts of measuring sticks… the one which involves personal risk (i.e. pain, injury, death)and the one which involves getting caught.
    This is an ongoing discussion between HandyMan and me. He measures risk by the chances he will get caught, and I measure risk by whether or not I can live with the consequences if I do. An interesting difference in perspective which has prompted much “argumentative progress” over the years.
    I am currently totally averse to any activity which carries the risk of physical discomfort. I believe I have entered my prime self-coddling years. lol

    Like

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