Me, I’m a man of the people. I don’t eschew less efficient ways of transportation simply because they are plebeian. People should know that I’m just like them: I put my thrift shop pants on one leg at a time. If it were not for the lovely Abigail, I would probably not even wash them before I put them on. There are so many things potentially lurking in the unwashed thrift store pants. She knows this but has been patient as I have learned. Not by experience. Not yet.
The lovely Abigail also knows that being a man of the people does not necessarily mean that I have to, or will be able to, navigate the streets on a pedal wagon of the people. Technically speaking, this particular wagon could be The People’s Wagon because it is covered in Chinese characters which I do not understand but has enough technology that it clearly post-dates the Second World War. Visions of me in a revolutionary cap joining the throngs of people pumping their thighs up and down to the rhythm of life in the city.
Except we kind of live in the suburbs and only a wingnut would ride something that can’t possibly go more than ten miles and hour on the curved, hilly roads around here. In addition to which, this thing was a wreck. Literally, a wreck. Things were bent and permanently out of shape. There was rust. I was going to be a rust warrior. The Keydet across the street could restore a 1984 Chevy C/K Custom Deluxe, so I could clearly handle this.
Or not. It probably took the lovely one about a month to figure out that this was going nowhere. She may have known it as soon as I backed the car in. Doesn’t matter. While she was clear about her reservations, she was never obstructionist. Some things I have to learn on my own. Last Thursday night, I came to the realization that, at almost 40 years old, I would probably not accomplish everything I have planned to do. Tonight I realized that being a Chinese wagon bike restorer is on the “not accomplishing” list. Thank God for small miracles and the patience of good women.