LOL

I can still feel the wind on my face from riding with my father on an old motorcycle through the heart of the Alps. It was the 1970s, and we were heading to Austria with no hurry, just the two of us cruising across these limitless landscapes as if we had the entire world to ourselves. Oh, what a scene on Grossglockner Road that day! Cars overheated to the left and right sites of the road, motorcycles racing by, and buses...so many busses jammed with tourists. I remember one in particular: a Swedish bus, loud, and bustling with Swedish tourists. One family stuck out of that whole pack of tourists: a full family of six, maybe eight, with the baby tied on the grandfather's back. He seemed so proud, carrying that small object as they crossed the road at the top of the pass.

Then it happened. I saw everything almost as if in slow motion. He tripped. Just like that, his foot got entangled in the unfastened shoelaces, and bang! Face first into the concrete. Nose down, and I swear the baby simply shot out of that bag like a missile. We were all stunned, mouths hanging agape, as we saw this tiny youngster float across the road, right past the traffic, bouncing along, and not moving. Not one of us were able to make a move! We were all caught in a strange limbo between dread and, I hate to confess it, shear disbelief that turned into an uncontrolled laughing. Nobody knew whether to laugh or scream, and for a moment, we were stuck. We were all in shock.

And then, as if by magic, the infant came to a stop just inches from the curb. Perfectly fine, with no scratches. Meanwhile, the poor grandfather, scraped up and groaning, is rushed to the hospital. And that was all. It all ended as soon as it began, and I'm not sure if anyone else recalls that day the way I do. But here I am, years later, still giggling whenever it jumps into my mind. It seemed like something out of a comic book, the kind of crazy moment that stays with you no matter how far you've traveled since.