That’s what I would have called it, a two-wheeled powered scooter type of toy sitting outside the coffee shop defying anyone to call it less than a grown up.
As I entered, I looked for the likely rider, a studious type kid with sunglasses and long hair, or maybe somebody having all the outward appearance of being a daredevil in the making. None of the few inside even came close to either description. So passing it off as another one of life’s incidentals, I got my coffee and settled in with an article in the latest issue of Writer’s Digest on how to become a better writer.
If I weren’t a student of awareness, I would never have noticed the older to old guy with a cap and red shirt walk out the door to briefly huddle over the machine, fiddle with some part of it I couldn’t see, and with a satisfied look, come back inside.
As he approached, I told him I liked his steed. He said he’d had it for only a few weeks, bought it on impulse from somebody for $300 cash without instruction book or papers. Nor was there any identification except for Solar450 painted on each side and a tiny Made In China tag. Already, though, he was convinced he had received more than his money’s worth.
Despite fruitless searches on the internet, he could only guess the rated output of the cantaloup sized gas engine and the driver’s maximum allowable weight. He had, however, proven that hammer down on a level straightaway, it could move itself along with his 175 pounds at a flat out maximum speed of 20mph.
He had also experienced his first flat tire, the result of having to drive on a local bridge’s emergency lane onto which, of course, bounce nearly all the nails, screws, bolts, and other bits of tire destroying junk that fall off speeding cars and trucks.
Anticipating the worst, he discovered that although repairing the tire was somewhat difficult, removing the wheel was far easier than he expected. Rather than the wheel being the usual single piece from which the tire had to pried off, it was two halves held together by four bolts—an approach so simple that the imagination said it could’ve been dreamed up somewhere in the world only by some smarties hanging out in a nondescript tin-roofed garage.
Clearly, my newfound-friend had already decided that the whole machine was the kind that at first you love it, then you hate it, then you have reason to love it all the more. Indeed, he had already driven it over the local main arterial streets plus many side streets. He had logged enough miles to be convinced that many more such excursions were on his immediate horizon. Like whoopee!
So, who was this man? My only clues were that he articulated well, was alert, a good thinker, and spot on in the awareness department. Most important, he exhibited all the ingredients of an eager and enthusiastic kid on a playground of long ago, except he was a well seasoned adult. Despite being alive in an age rich in technology, he remembered when a screwdriver, pair of pliers, crescent wrench plus some baling wire or rope could go a long way in getting a broken machine up and running again.
I didn’t ask him who he was. He did say, however, that he was local and that on this particular morning, his brain was busy with the concern of how best to safely keep the money that’s left after bills are paid. I told him that was a heavy subject while smilingly reminding him that even now in this modern world, the ancient idea of burying those extra bucks in the backyard is still a solid choice.
About that time, he saw a friend pull up in a pickup truck, apparently looking for him. He hurried outside for brief conversation, then came back in as his friend left.
He gave me a firm handshake while telling me his first name, wished me well, returned outside, pulled the start rope, goosed the accelerator, then sped away with the muffler delivering a high pitched staccato sound guaranteed to turn heads.
As I finished my coffee, I began musing over the question of where the logic was in this unusual event that came out of thin air to drop into my lap.
After several attempts, I discovered I was able to answer my own question only by thinking in reverse.
That is, the whole incident was simple and logical only because everything outside of it was complicated and illogical.
