Scott Miller's Invention

Ten year-olds in the mid-1950s,  we roamed Dhahran like feral animals on bicycles in search of even the slightest diversion, and so one day we landed at Scott Miller's house on Christmas Tree Circle to behold his new invention. A long piece of rope tied to the handle atop the metal lid of one of those Aramco issue garbage cans. The other end knotted firmly to the stem of his bicycle seat. As if he had discovered fire, he glowed like Prometheus with the satisfaction of his ingenuity as he demonstrated its brilliance.

Riding around the circle, he dragged the screeching lid and by maneuver was able to make it perform like a water skier who first swings widely to the right and then quickly to the opposite side of the arc. We jumped with delight as it first crashed into the tire of a parked car and then bounced back outwards from the rubber bumper. And again it came screaming back into the tire of the next car and rebounded wildly back. He did the whole circle, maybe half a dozen cars, and we howled in approval.
       Feeding on our joy, he redoubled his speed and circled again. Working one car after another, he sailed the galvanized disk to and fro. Each ricochet fueling the speed of the next to come. Wild-eyed with manic glee, he grinned at us over his shoulder. The thin, flying puck came skittering back towards the next target ... and wedged itself firmly behind the tire. The rope tightened and his bike came to an instant halt. He didn't. With the most wonderful expression of surprise and self-realized irony Scott Miller sailed over the handlebars and into mythology, as he hit the street face-first and bounced along the hot asphalt. Convulsed with laughter, we all died a thousand deaths, mirthful witnesses to a sublime miracle of humor, a gift from the goddess of Fun to her devoted followers.