“IT’S NOT THAT FAR”, they said.

   In the spirit of the crummy, rainy April weather we’ve been having here lately, I figured I could write about something both warm and happy.

   It was my freshman year of college and my boyfriend’s parents surprised us with a trip to Cancun for Spring Break. I was SO. EXCITED. because a) I had never been outside of the U.S. before and b) I was actually doing something for Spring Break! I had dreamed about this moment: a College Spring Break Experience.

   I’d like to go on and on about all the fantastically wonderful things we did and saw while on the trip, but I’d hate to bore you or, heaven forbid, make you jealous. Instead I’ll divulge one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, sound fair?

   It was the last day of the trip and the four of us had to figure out a way to get both of the motorized scooters as well as the golf cart we’d rented back to the rental shop while also transporting our luggage and bodies to the ferry port. Eventually it was decided that my boyfriend and I would each ride one of the scooters back into town and they’d take the golf cart or something like that. I’m actually not 100% sure how it all worked out, but I do know that I got stuck with driving some scary contraption on two wheels.

   Just to make things clear and save myself from looking like some sheltered wimp-woman, I have ridden a two-wheeled vehicle before. Just not driven one. Ever. Not even for like 7 seconds.

   After practicing in the hotel parking lot for not nearly enough time, we had to hit the road or risk missing our ride from Isla Mujeres back to Cancun. I was nervous beyond all get out but my boyfriend kept reassuring me, saying “it wasn’t that far” and “everything would be ok”.

   So I donned my too-large red chipped helmet and prepared myself for a journey of a life time. Two miles into town, one right turn, one left turn. Got it. I can do this.

   I rode behind my boyfriend and kept a fairly good pace. It was actually fun once I got used to things. I mentally said farewell to the beautiful island and its folk. The wind was in my hair, the sun was on my shoulders, it was a glorious ride.

   Until we approached the first corner and I realized one important factor: he hadn’t taught me how to turn. My heart fell into my stomach and my whole body tensed up because I knew I was rapidly approaching a 90 degree angle and I had to do something about it or risk reenacting the whole bug-on-windshield effect against the looming building. My instinct was to put my right foot on the ground to, I don’t know, pivot myself and the scooter to the right instead of actually turning the handlebars. Surprisingly that was more painful than helpful so I resorted to relaxing my cement-arms just enough to barely constitute a turn at all. But I made it! That was a rough 3 seconds.

   Now that we were in town, the next corner came quickly. It was a lefty this time which stunk because I had just mastered the whole right-turn thing and now this. Almost ironically there was a giant black Escalade parked right at the corner. Someone had a sense of humor. And someone doesn’t care about their Escalade because it was about to become not so pretty.

   My heart dropped again and my arms returned to their tense state but, once again, I knew something had to be done here. I tried the left foot pivot thing because I’m not smart and it hurt. I was approaching the corner way faster than I would have liked to and saw the shiny black side of the Escalade coming closer and closer AND CLOSER and I panicked! I whipped the handle bars to the left while at the same time keeping my left foot on the ground and WHAM, on the ground. Me, the bike, everything. We skidded about three feet and I heard the crunch of glass and plastic. I was still somehow straddling it but wasn’t in much pain. I slid my left leg out from under it and checked for blood. Just a little scrape on the knee, no biggy.

   BUT MY PRIDE!

   I sheepishly looked up and saw probably 50 pairs of eyes staring at me, wide with astonishment. I looked ahead and saw my boyfriend running to my aid. I also saw I was literally twenty steps away from the rental shop. The owner came out and started yelling something in Spanish, flinging his hands into the air as he looked at me like I had just smacked his wife.

   As soon as the bike was removed from anywhere near me, I ran around the corner to hide. I was so embarrassed and all I could do was cry and feel sorry for myself as I stood in the middle of the sidewalk on some island in Mexico. My new bracelet was bent, my shorts were dirty, my makeup was streaked, and my knee was bleeding.

   “IT’S NOT THAT FAR”, they said. “EVERYTHING WILL BE OK”, they said!

   My boyfriend found me cowering around the corner and told me I’d have to come inside to pay for the damage. Well first he hugged me and told me it was ok, I guess I should include that so he doesn’t sound heartless. So I made my way to the shop with my head hung low, avoiding the eyes that were still staring. The man that was yelling before had apparently calmed down and seemed more like he was trying not to laugh. One of his helpers translated my sentence and I was to pay $40 for repairs to the scooter. Not so bad! I gave him $50 because I thought the extra $10 would make up for my stupidity. Then we left! We walked the four blocks to the ferry port and never said a word about the incident.

   So that was my last day in Mexico! I hope you feel better about yourself than you did before reading this. Because I slightly feel worse.