![]() ![]() We already knew what he was going to say. Please open your door immediately.” We looked outside and there was a police car in front of our house. Finally we heard an insistent voice through the door: “Police. We ignored it because, well, it was Sunday morning at 6:30. So … fast forward to Sunday morning at 6:30. But if your child has been killed, the police come to your door. When we expressed our concerns about his driving home in the wee hours, Henry was happy to agree to spend the night in North County after the prom, then return home Sunday.Ī little aside here: We always had been told that if your kid is in an accident, the police call you. Had it been a La Jolla High School prom, he would be sharing a limo with a group of friends, to the enormous relief of their collective parents. ![]() You just can’t count on a 16-year-old boy to say, “You know, folks, I’m just too tired to drive.” This was long before Uber. ![]() Now, anyone with a teenage son worries about them driving late at night, especially with a car full of compatriots whose brain judgment centers, like his, are very much in the still-developing phase. Meanwhile, that night, my son Henry, then a teenager and a fairly new driver, was taking his girlfriend to her North County high school’s prom. He then placed it on the sidewalk in front of his new ramp so no one could drive over it. To make sure it would be able to dry unmolested, he took a medium-ish cardboard box, put a few bricks into it to weigh it down and wrapped it with duct tape. But the cement was going to need to set overnight. Late one Saturday afternoon, the neighbor showed up, mixed a small batch of cement and created a ramp about 10 inches wide from street to curb, perfect for a bicycle. We, of course, had no knowledge of this project. But heck, my neighbor reasoned, who would even notice, other than other grateful bicyclists? The city of San Diego takes a dim view of citizens making adjustments, however potentially positive, to city streets. So he decided he would create such a ramp, which, as you might guess, is totally illegal. It all started when a well-meaning neighbor who was an avid bicyclist decided our neighborhood could use a small concrete ramp from street to sidewalk so he didn’t have to stop and lift his bike up on the curb when he wanted to ride through a scenic right of way that starts just across the street from our house. And in the process create a family catchphrase that lives on forever. Sometimes the best-intentioned plans can go awry. ![]()
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