Preserved Motion
I made my annual trek to the service station this morning for the Commonwealth's approval to drive my truck on their roads. At nearly 16 years old, she passed the state inspection with flying colors again. I never had any doubts, though it does call for celebration. It means we'll share more road stories, more journeys to nowhere destinations, more driving music with numerous mixes from all sorts of artists and musical genres, more get my head straight me time, more field trips for the pups and I with all the windows down, and more hours of sun filled days pampering and polishing.
As we both grow older, we tend to share quite a bit in common, at times almost mirroring the other. Our paint is bit duller than it use to be. There are even noticeable signs of chipping in certain areas. We stand a little wider, older, and not as trendy or hip as we once were. I wouldn't necessarily call any of these flaws. I think of them more as beauty marks and savored life experiences.
Whatever the case, I relate more today to Roger Taylor's lyrics to I'm in Love With My Car than when I first bought the rock elite A Night at the Opera album in 1975. Ironically, that same year I began taking driver's education classes. Seems only appropriate that I add the entire album to my next road trip.