We took Bustache to get his breaks checked last weekend. On our way back from Ventura a couple of weeks ago, we noticed Bustache making some peculiar noises every time we slowed to a stop. Sometime it was a high-pitched squeaking; sometimes it was a more alarming “thump, thump, thump.”
We brought him back to the same mechanic we took him to before our Yosemite trip, and the moment we walked in, he asked us “How’d it go?”
“He made it to Yosemite!” Steve exclaimed.
“We couldn’t believe it,” I said smiling. “It was awesome!”
“That’s what I like about bus drivers,” chuckled the mechanic, “They always act like it’s a miracle when they just make it where they’re going.”
Isn’t this the truth. Steve and I get in Bustache, and we kind of expect to end up on the side of the road somewhere, waiting for AAA. And when we actually pull-up to our desired destination, we always shake our heads in a bit of disbelief. Most of the time we give each other high-fives too. And then we start to wonder if we’ll make it back home… which, when we do, we indulge in a couple of fist-pumps and “yippees”!
This is the beauty of the Bustache – he completely changes our privlaged, 21st Century, “we can (and should be able to!) do anything” point-of-view. He has taught us that, while the world is at our fingertips, we might not always get to grab it. And if we do, it will be slowly, it will be noisy, and it will probably result in us smelling like gas.
But we will, without a doubt, appreciate each mile we successfully trek, and we will, without a shadow of a doubt, celebrate our arrival with hand-shakes, hugs and hoorays.
It’s humbling. It can be frustrating. But even going up a hill at 20 miles per hour, it’s definitely exhilarating.