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Sometime around the age of twelve, I convinced my parents to get me a minibike. Upon getting it home, I climbed aboard and immediately gunned it, slewing out of control toward the house, which I narrowly avoided before ditching in the leeching field. A year or two later, a friend let me ride his dad's three-wheeler, which I promptly sent crashing into some trees. (I was unscathed, having had the good sense to bail out while I was still on the lawn.) Thinking that perhaps four wheels would bring me some salvation, I got myself a Kawasaki Mojave ATV. We don't really need to elaborate on what happened with that, because I'm not sure what the statute of limitations is on getting grounded by your parents. Let's just say that when you've got fractured ribs, it's hard to act as if you don't.