Mo-Kan Mayhem
I clipped a rogue tire on the last turn and went airborne—sky, pavement, sky, pavement, repeat. When the smoke cleared, I was upright, shredded, barefoot, and straddling a smoking go-kart like I meant to do it. No trophy. Just scars, laughter, and a helmet with a fresh flattop.
Stripes
A backyard go-kart ride turned airborne disaster when my brother slammed the brakes—and I became a human launch ramp. Mud flew, engines screamed, and my Batman shirt took a hit it would never recover from. No helmets, no regrets—just the Glover way: full speed, no brakes, and always a good story.