I have always loved driving. When I was 19, my dad helped me to buy my first car, an American Rambler. I painted my flowers and critters on it an proceeded to begin driving all over the State of Oklahoma to become familiar with the highway and by ways. I would drive my cars until they didn't go any longer. I love my cars especially old ones. One van I had, I drove 489K miles before it died and my husband wouldn't spend any money to fix it up.
Today, my son called me to say 'mom, my motorcycle won't start. Can you come and jump me off?'
Of course I could. Reminded my of a son-in-law who would have car challenges when he was first married and call for a jump or a lift or something to help with the silly car. He would always feel like kicking the tire, slamming the door or something to show his frustration. I helped my son start his cycle, then 10 miles down the road, it died on him as he was coming off the freeway going onto the feeder. I was three cars behind him. Of course as I realized what was happening, I said a fervent prayer for his safety and as the other cars pulled around him, I eased up to protect his back. As he pushed the bike up on the side of the road, you could see his tension mounting. When he got into the car, it all came tumbling out. "I would like to just crush that heap of junk! I would like to just leave it on the side of the road....etc." I was plummeted back in time to Russell and his frustration over old vehicles.
I know I should have a sage word of wisdom here, but for the life of me I can only smile...out of his vision of course.