THE ONLY DIFFERENCE

Trains: don’t you just love’em! Late morning and I hear the horn. Its message is crystal clear; “I’m coming through, get off the tracks because I’m going too fast to stop. I’m out-bound and even though I like your little town I don’t have time to sit idle on your siding.” After a short pause I hear it again, “Hey! I meant it about the (too fast to stop). I can see lights flashing and the crossing gates are all the way down.” Even though it is 5 blocks away I relate to that (passing through) sense of urgency. None of that creepy-crawly throttle-down stuff. None of that slow motion sag beneath the weight of those steel wheels. Up close you can hear the rails rattle and feel air gust between passing freight cars and no matter what your purpose was at the moment, you wish you were onboard with nothing to do but roll out on the dash down-line and see who is watching and waiting at the next crossing, and the next. I love trains. 

I was supposed to be on my way to Nashville, Tennessee.  By now I should have been halfway across the state but my trusty F-150 had a suspicious burp and hick-up, something too risky to let it pass. I was 20 miles up the road and the needle on my temp gage hadn’t moved. The heater was still blowing cold air. After a short consult with my mechanic-son I checked the coolant reservoir and found it empty. I had a leak. So I added a half gallon of anti-freeze and the problem goes away. But that fix was temporary at best. A long road trip leaking coolant is a recipe for disaster so I turned around and headed back to a local garage. 

I told my story while the man with the wrench smiled and listened politely. Not unusual I learned, for Fords of that era to need new hose and O-rings on the coolant reservoir. It will take  several hours but I’ll get it back today. My plan was to cold-camp in the back of my pickup in Paducah, KY at the Pilot Truck Stop; avoid the hassle of Nashville traffic. A folding cot, two sleeping bags, sweats and a hoodie make it warm and snug. But I need to get there in daylight to set my system up before it gets cold and my schedule now has been compromised. So I need a new plan. If I go to bed early and get up in the wee hours, say 3:00 a.m., I can be in Nashville by 10:00 a.m. That will be timed exactly with the doors opening at the National Convention for Manufacturers & Sellers of Recumbent & Electric Assist Bicycles & Tricycles. 

I have a recumbent tricycle that does not have Electric Assist and I want to change that. I could just have the motor & battery kit installed on the one I have but that’s sort of like getting false teeth. It is better than gums on gums but it’s still false teeth. The resulting boost in power and speed on that light frame and skinny tires doesn’t instill confidence or appeal to my better judgment. So I’ve been researching larger trikes with fat tires that are designed from the get-go for Electric Assist. Then, as if preordained, I learn about the once a year convention in Nashville. In a few hours I connected all the dots; I can talk to the manufacture’s designers and mechanics and take test rides at the fairground track next to the arena - not unlike, the metaphor; shortest distance between two points is a straight line. 

A last minute decision to make the Nashville dash was going well until my coolant/antifreeze malfunction. I had been on the first train, “No time to stop on the siding”, but here I am, sitting on my hands, waiting for the green light. But this life is pretty good. I have someone, a very good mechanic, working on it as I type. The parts are available and even if the cost is more than I think it should be, I understand that everything is more expensive than I think it should be but I have more money than I think I should need; probably the best of all protocols in that unraveling of events. All things being equal, this time tomorrow I’ll be in Nashville at the toy store and it’s true what they say about men and boys, the only difference is the price of their toys.