Rolling down the boulevard

They're awkward and annoying, big and bulky, clumsy and cumbersome, dorky and distasteful. For the sake of the remaining 22 letters of the alphabet, I'm gonna stop there. Suffice it to say, rolly backpacks are, when coupled with a jam-packed Blair Boulevard, quite possibly the worst idea ever.

But there's one other descriptor that most certainly applies, and for that, I'd like to turn to the letter "m." The overwhelming majority of rolly backpackers are in the Magnet. Why would kids so seemingly smart use something as seemingly stupid as a rolly backpack? Is there something more to these contraptions than meets the eye?

JP sitting (Print)

Photo: Senior Julia Penn's backpack defeats her on Blair Boulevard.

Senior Julia Penn's backpack defeats her on Blair Boulevard. Photo courtesy of Adam Schuyler.

The dogged (my editor says "stupid") reporter in me just had to find the answers to these haunting (my editor insists "forgettable") and potentially life-changing (my editor argues "trivial") questions. I would go to great lengths to reach enlightenment. I would roll over the edge, give it my all and risk everything. For one week, I would use a rolly backpack.

Learning the ropes

I obtained a rolly backpack from a friend, who wishes to remain anonymous for obvious reasons. The backpack had been sitting at his house collecting dust since freshman year when he had an unfortunate encounter with a huge, scary senior. Let's just say there were threats involved, he was lifted off the ground by his shirt and he never used the backpack again.

On Jan. 3, I tossed my blue shoulder-strapped Jansport Nebula 25 aside in favor of the borrowed forest-green Sports Plus Olympia, the rolling model. My personal tests revealed that the rolly backpack's capacity surpassed my trusty Jansport's by two textbooks, one binder and a lunchbox.

Magnet senior Greg Cox, preeminent rolly backpack expert and my new mentor, explains. "We're very weak, not very good at manual labor," he generalizes about his fellow magnet students. "We feel it is necessary to carry not just the supplies needed for one day, but every textbook for every class because you're never really sure when you're going to need them."

Cox's tips were invaluable: clean your wheels ("You get some really lovely clumps of this gray hair-like stuff"), and watch out for wide right turns ("It's like driving a car").

Me vs. Blair Boulevard

Armed with Cox's wisdom and a newfound wheeling confidence, on Jan. 5, I set out to conquer Blair Boulevard before 5A lunch. My goal was to start rolling and never stop, move as fast as possible and limit my vocabulary to an occasional grunted "excuse me" or "sorry." I set my speed at power walk.

JP Kicked (Print)

Photo: Penn gets assaulted by senior Patrick Brice, left and junior David Ufford, right.

Penn gets assaulted by senior Patrick Brice, left and junior David Ufford, right. Photo courtesy of Adam Schuyler.

I was a beast. I weaved in and out of people like it was my job. When a foreboding pillar blocked my path, I had to think fast. Without slowing down, I quickly checked left (a mob of impenetrable people) and right (two boys fast approaching). The gap between the pillar and the boys was closing. Could I make it? I took a chance and came out on top.

In a brave display of prowess, I had made my way down Blair Boulevard unscathed with only nine disapproving looks and two attempted kicks (they're just jealous). The whole experience was exhilarating - I had to do it again.

Three minutes and 37 seconds later, I'd gotten seven more disapproving looks, two laughs, one "oh my god," one "what the..." and one complete loss of control, in which the rolly backpack smashed into someone's shin - my bad.

Cox made me feel better about the crash by explaining that clipping people was all part of the game. "I've run over countless people with this thing in the past," said Cox, proud of this accomplishment. I, too, was impressed.

Let the games begin

Once I got past the dork factor, I realized that rolly backpacks are just one big fun toy, a toy that I was getting used to, enjoying and learning to accept as part of my daily routine. I stopped caring about the weird looks or the laughs or the rude comments or the occasional hiding of my rolly backpack in the recycling bin. I had gained more confidence in myself.

On top of that, my week of self-inflicted dorkiness had benefited my friends. They now had a new favorite game: Kick Julia's Rolly Backpack While Repeatedly Calling Her a Dork.