We summit the Zipper, washed in waves of rock and roll, overlooking dense August corn fields. Bob and I, sixteen, are pinned by black bars, caged in metal mesh, shrieking. Like a comet in space, we throw our combined mass forward and back, forward and back, roll the chipped yellow car over and around, over and around, over and around, our stomachs whirl. How many times? 30? 46? No-- FIFTY!
Commanding forward momentum in sweet exuberant control, our young weight upends the world.