To do this we were going to have to move the pipe considerably INTO harms way, by moving it around half a mile, by hand, along a busy main road. Initially the pipe was to be moved into my garage, but this relied on the pipe getting home before my parents, otherwise my parents would be able to turn down the prospect of a ramp in the garage while they could still stop me, and not after the event had taken place.
Moving the quarterpipe was difficult to say the least, it weighed a ton (probably not literally) and was more awkward than a shop assistant in a fancy boutique. By lifting it, we moved the pipe about 50m in twenty minutes. This method might have got back to my house approximately 2 weeks after my parents returned. We decided therefore, to drag it along the road, and, "driving" it as if it were a steam engine - slowly, holding up traffic, and looking like crusty wankers. The damage to the road was remarkable, considering the complete non-durability of the ramp, as masonry nails gouged chunks out the road. However, slowly but surely, (with particular emphisis on the slowly) we got it along the road and about 200 metres from my house.
There are some things in life which are inevitable. Death, pain, grief, they are all inevitable. The slow march into old age, where you look back on a life which could have been promising, but like all things in this miserable world, was just a disappointment from beginning to end. This too, is ineviatble. On the day in question, one other thing was inevitable - that my parents would return as we were only a short distance from the destination garage. We had joked about it all the way along the road, not expecting it to happen. But it was Sod's law that it would happen. It was pathetically obvious that it would happen, because things like this always happened to people with good intentions. My parents drove round the corner.
"Where's this going?", asked my Dad.
"Our garage", said I.
"No, it's not", said He.
And that was it, I wouldn't get my way. If people consider me, form time to time, to be a stubborn person, then it is the Bienkowski genetic code to be this way. Arguing with my Dad is like life; long, drawn out, and futile. The looks on the faces of the party of movers was a mix of disappointment, laughter, and despondency. But also, we knew, the ramp would need a new home. At this point Sean turned up, and was as useful as a latex-flavoured condom for the first 15 minutes. We decided to move the ramp up to a piece of common land, and Sean duly joined in and fought the boring fight.
Upon arriving at its new home we encountered what was to be the last obstacle of the day. An elderly lady particuarly notorious for being a pain in the arse. She asked us to move it away from her garage wall, and we did so after several irate exchanges. She claimed she phoned the community police, so that they could show up in time for New Year, and the ramp found its final resting place, rather fittingly, 2 yards form the graveyard.
Myself and Ben would like to thank the removal team of 30th October 2004 for their help - Mark, Chris, Will, Malcom, Dan, Matt, Sean, and the nice guy who jumped off his bike to help us push it up the road. Long may the ramp remain in its new home, as unlikely as that seems.
(editorial - as predicted, it was unlikely that the ramp would remain in its new home. Not 24 hours after we left it there, we have been asked to move it again. But this time it is for the better, possibly. We have been given a place to put it, and to use it without further arguments. However, although this seems like a good idea, it may be left for a few weeks to raise awareness for the growing need of a skatepark for young people - we shall see how our actions are percieved as time ticks by)
(editorial 2 - the quarterpipe has now been dismantled, so for the minute may it RIP. It make yet be reborn as another quarter or deathbox, we shall have to see.)