My father recently started riding a motorized bicycle to work.
I’m pretty sure he’s the only fella in town with one of these things, so if you live in North Collins, N.Y. and a man buzzes past you at 20 mph with a lunchbox strapped to the back of his seat, it’s my dad.
He bought the bike last fall while visiting me in Florida. He got it second hand for $150. It originally cost $800, or so he says.
It took him five hours to properly disassemble it so it could be bubble wrapped, packaged and shipped via FedEx to New York.
It arrived broken.
My father, crestfallen, immediately began searching for replacement parts. Because he’s a veteran at fixing broken shit, he had his bike up and running within a few days. The only problem was it was winter and there was snow on the ground.
“I’ll just have to wait until spring,” he chirped enthusiastically.
Well guess what folks? Spring is here and my tool-and-die-maker father has been leaving his house at 5 a.m. and
pedaling motoring through rural back roads like a blue collar Pee-wee Herman in steel-toed work boots and a reflective vest.