“My Trikke serves as a suave and nimble rug-cutting partner.”
I love everything about dancing: the beat, the movement, the fun… It’s just a crying shame that I have no rhythm. Actually, as a musician, rhythm is a mandatory component of my heart and soul – but there’s a short circuit somewhere near my belly button. My upper body or lower body can groove independently, but moving the two halves together results in something so catastrophic that a dear friend once recommended that I leave the dance floor to spare myself additional embarrassment. True story. Thankfully, my Trikke lets me get on down with my bad self sans humiliation.
Since the dance floor isn’t so much an option, my Trikke serves as a suave and nimble rug-cutting partner. *big, dorky grin* When traffic on the park path is light, on go the headphones, and I weave in time to my favorite tunes. Because the physical movement required to propel the Trikke was long ago relegated to muscle memory, my only worry is leaning left or right in time with the music – none of this “right arm up, left arm down, grapevine, kick-ball-change” dance stuff. The music and the carve work together to hypnotize me in short order. I drift to another plane where the aurora borealis fills the daytime sky and everything else morphs into a vividly-colored animation that pulses brighter in time with the beat. Sometimes my Trikke becomes airborne and follows the aurora’s path. (No, I haven’t had too many pain meds – but my imagination is rather lively.) After drifting slowly back to reality, all is right with the world, and I’m relaxed, centered, and ready to face life again. Seriously: for me, Trikke dancing is an itty-bitty, three-wheeled vacation.
Rich Goff recently posted a video of a gentleman who appears to be dancing gracefully with his Trikke to a beat that only he can hear. In my own imagination, I am that agile, but given that I don’t so much as trip the light fantastic as throw it headlong down a flight of stairs, it’s highly doubtful that bystanders would agree. So, until Terpsichore, the muse of dance, becomes a close, personal friend, my Trikke-grooving will remain amongst the neon hues of the northern lights. C’mon and join me – there’s room up there for everybody!