I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was heading straight into the intersection. I tried to warn him again. “Bones, it’s too danger—” Too late.

As he weaved in and out of about twelve cones, he looked like a giraffe on a circus bike. And just when I thought he had avoided everything . . . FZZZZ!!! He went straight into the fresh crosswalk paint.

Both of his tires went from black to bright white. Of course he didn’t have those thin, flimsy tires that came with the bike. He had the big, fat ones because he thought they gave him better handling. So now he had this white paint trail following him, and then out of nowhere he started zigzagging back and forth—with white paint all over his tires.

I yelled into my headset, “Bones! What are you doing?!”

Every time he zigged after a zag it looked like he was going to crash to the ground. I’d never seen him lose his balance like that. It was like he was drunk. And then, miraculously, he got the Basket Barge under control.

All of that hadn’t fazed the big buffoon one bit. “Whoa, I nearly lost it there, Lump . . . must be the meds I’m taking.”

“The meds?! What meds? Are you sure you didn’t add something to your OJ this morning?!”

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