I was spending some quality time out on the stoop…thinking about how groovy it might be if some scientist would hurry up and invent an effective anti-gravitational drive propulsion system.
I realized that the impetus to create such a thing would probably find its genesis in the appropriate pressure being brought to bear, from High Seats of Influence in vast Power Combines, upon various R&D departments within the oft-cited and much-maligned “Military-Industrial Complex.”
But I also realized that, once the military had exhausted the ways in which such a device could be used to decimate an enemy, some Super-Genius Marketing-Mastermind would have a vision of the future and see all the dollar signs that would result from the technology being used in the private sector for recreational vehicles built for the civilian population at large. Eventually, the Anti-gravitational drive mechanism would be put to good use in some kind of free-floating Rocket Sled and that’s the kind of invention that could make a Big Difference in my life.
I was then forced to grasp the concept that such a device would, undoubtedly, be phenomenally expensive but I also knew that I would be willing to make the sacrifices necessary to make the purchase.
I began to visualize my Rocket Sled; a fine, fire-engine red contraption with golden lightning bolts emblazoned on the sides and I would have a silver jumpsuit and a red helmet painted to match my Sled, right down to the lightning bolts.
A whole network of top-secret, underground “Hot Shops” would crop up where weird modifications could be made to the sleds and they would be souped-up to travel at near-light speed. But I, of course, would be a responsible rider and would never dream of taking the thing up to Maximum Speed. Maybe, on clear days when the wind was right, I could take it out to the Salt Flats and really open her up, just to see what she could do.
The thought of tooling around my neighborhood and impressing all the girls with my anti-gravitational antics was very intoxicating and anything that would keep me from dabbling in the more traditional methods of intoxication would be well worth almost any price, not to mention the effect it would have on the ladies. The True Test of any new technology is, as always: Can it help to get you laid? And who could resist a Rocket Sled?
As I sat out there, ruminating over the fact that I should probably start a special bank account where I could squirrel away the money I would eventually put toward the Big Purchase, I began to worry that there were no scientists actually working, in earnest, to produce the necessary experiments, equipment and schematics to actually build the thing.
I have only the slightest of inkling of how the internal combustion engine in my car functions to say nothing of anti-gravitational propulsion. All I knew was that the thing would have to go very fast and look cool. These were my primary concerns. And it couldn’t ride on any cushion of air like a normal hovercraft; the whole gizmo would simply have to float and a thing like that could be a real problem for most scientists much less a freak like me. All I knew was that somebody needed to get the work done and as fast as possible.
I dreamt of futuristic “Rocket Bars” where all of the fastest riders would gather to tell fantastic rocket sled stories filled with close-calls and amazing getaways in the face of overwhelming odds and hot pursuits with the agents of Rocket Sled Patrol Headquarters. And, of course, all the sexiest rocket chicks would gather to be regaled and wooed by the flashy-type rider/pilots and space-age bootleggers and they would all vie for the chance to take rides on the sleekest and fasted Rocket Sleds. I would romance them all and then blow out of town in a cloud of anti-gravitational dust as they all called after me, “Come back Rocket man!” Yes; life in a world where True Love exists in haze of atomic-powered recreational vehicles and bars that serve “Rocket Juice” with whiskey chasers and the Score is always settled by high-stakes Rocket Sled races where Life and Death hang in the balance and only skill and raw sex appeal can make the Difference.
I was ready for that kind of Action.
She came outside then and looked at me as I sat there, lost in my latest reverie of what the Future might hold. She waited until I looked at her…then; she pulled up her shirt to show me the new gun she had gotten last week. She asked me to come inside with her to help “Reload.” I nodded slowly and got up to follow her. But I took one last look out at the horizon.
I imagined, as I gazed out there, where the sun was just touching the Earth and the world seemed to be catching fire, that I could see a lone rider skirting the skyline and surfing that shimmery border that separates the home of the gods from the sullen and dirty domain of mortal men. And he was racing along with the reckless electricity of a demon-child, cut loose and born again from the brooding womb of his own discontent; bound for the fleshy temptation of human females and fountains of Fire Water and rocket fuel set ablaze. He was the only One who could tame them all; the only One with the guts to even try; the only One with the insane kind of confidence that comes from the feeling of a super-charged Rocket Sled thrumming its anti-gravitational music between your legs. I could almost see it out there and it made me smile wistfully for a future that I was afraid I’d never see.
I heard her clear her throat with impatience and I hurried up inside to join her.
After all, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…for a Rocket Sled.