I had a high-tech red motorcycle, and I drove it from Lake Ridge to Dale City by way of Smoketown Road. Then, I was making my way back, again on Smoketown Road, somewhere on the stretch between Minnieville and Cavalier. I had to weave between a few bicyclists on the road, and then suddenly I realized that the only reason my motorcycle was still moving was because I was pedaling it. The engine had gone dead.
I stopped and tried to fiddle with the controls. I looked at my high-tech dashboard and decided to give the operating system a reboot (it looked like a compact version of Windows 7). However, when I pressed the hard button on the dashboard to shut down the OS, it went into hibernate instead, so that wasn't going to work. Then I thought maybe I was out of fuel, so I looked at the fuel gauge, but its digital readout showed that I had almost half a tank left.
Somehow, I got back closer to home (maybe Wainscott), and my mom was outside trying to help me troubleshoot. I recalled that we were using a special fuel — basically, gingerbread cookies, though we called them something else which I can't remember. My mom had some more with her, and she took a bite of one, and I could see from her expression that it tasted kind of weird. Maybe the cookies changed over time and they had lost their efficacy.
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