The Test Drive
An explosion of sound knocked me out of a deep sleep, and almost out of bed. It filled the room so completely it made me wonder if someone had snuck in and installed speakers in every corner of my ceiling.
It took me a moment to remember who and where I was. Then slowly it dawned on me that this cacophony had a distinct Latin beat. It was crystal clear. I could pick out the finely plucked guitar, driving bass line, and intoxicating rhythm of the percussion. Over it all soared a women’s voice, pure and strong.
There was nothing left to do but start bopping along. My annoyance at being awakened was gone. Realizing that the music infiltrating my room came from outside, I leapt out of bed and hurried to the window.
There, idling at the corner, was the music’s source. It was a sleek, burnt orange, three wheeled “vehicle”. Was it a car? A motorcycle? Some kind of modified dune buggy? I had no idea. All I knew was that it was the coolest “chariot” I had ever seen. And to top it off, it had the best sound system I had ever heard.
Moments later the light changed, and this beauty roared off into the night. I stood gaping, awestruck. This combination of power, elegance and sound was like nothing I had ever imagined. I staggered back to bed and laid there for the next hour with the image of that car(?) swirling around my brain, until finally I nodded off into a restless sleep.
. . .
The next morning I awoke, somewhat groggy, with thoughts of what I’d seen and heard the night before still firmly implanted in my head. Armed with a cup of coffee, I logged onto my computer to try and find out what it was.
My first search, “three-wheeled vehicles”, brought up a slew of scooters and other ways for kids to tool around. It clearly wasn’t what I was looking for, but I lingered for a while, amazed at the mini cycles and trikes available, all electric powered. Didn’t kids pedal anymore?
I refocused and tried again with “three-wheeled vehicles for adults”. This took me to the Can-Am Spyder F3. Streamlined. Black. Like a version of the Batcycle. Nice, but not what I was looking for.
The third time was the charm. “Three-wheeled vehicles with two seats for adults”. Though not the most elegant searches, it got me to the T-Rex RR, a self-defined three-wheeled motorcycle. Like its namesake, this baby was clearly powerful, and able to blow the doors off any rivals on the road. It came in colors from Gulf Orange to Rosso Mugello to Acid Green.
My only disappointment was that the ad said nothing about the sound system. Was that included, or something you had to customize? There was only one way to find out. I had to see one of these up close. Luckily, there was an authorized dealer not far from where I lived.
. . .
Before I go on, I should probably tell you something about myself. I am a 65-year-old man, recently retired. I never married and live a pretty solitary existence. I didn’t make a lot of money, but with Social Security and a modest 401k I have more than enough to live comfortably.
Part of the reason for my professed financial security is because I am incredibly cheap. I rarely indulge myself with anything, let alone a toy like the T-Rex. What’s more, I never cared a whit for cars, motorcycles, scooters, or any other form of motorized transportation. For years I owned a beat-up Toyota Corolla but gave that up to save on insurance. If I want to go somewhere I walk or take a bus or hail an Uber. I rent a car for my rare forays out of the city.
My only extravagance is a killer sound system. Macintosh MAC7200 receiver, Rega Planar 3 turntable, Dan Clark Audio AEON Flow 2 headphones, surround sound Bose speakers and an LP collection that would rival most FM radio stations. While I appreciated the style of the T-Rex, that booming sound system was its real lure. I could take my music on the road.
While I did not miss work, retirement left a void. I hadn’t realized how much I depended on my co-workers for what little social life I had. Now most of my interaction was with my neighbors, like 80-year-old Mrs. Johnson, and the Davis’s downstairs. Even that was mainly passing the time of day and little more. I felt a need for a change.
. . .
When I walked into the dealership I knew immediately that I was not their normal customer. Glancing around, I didn’t see anyone else over 30. That included salespeople, other customers and even the mechanics. A strong hipster vibe permeated the place. Heads immediately turned to gape at me, with looks that cried out, “What the hell is he doing here?”.
Regardless of my discomfort, I was immediately smitten by the “cycles” that surrounded me. There were 10 or so T-Rex’s scattered about. In person they were even more impressive. The aerodynamic design, the low-slung leather bucket seats, the view at road level which begged for speed.
A sales rep, wearing a multi-colored bowling shirt with Boaz stitched across the heart, casually sidled over to me. “She’s a real beaut, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is”, I replied, keeping the female nomenclature. “Can you tell me a bit about her”?
Immediately Boaz launched into his prepared speech. “Under that hood, is a Kawasaki 1441 CC engine, with 208 horsepower, water-cooled, with two overhead cams. She has fully adjustable coil-over shocks, for maximum traction, with a reinforced, frontal impact crash tested tubular chassis.”
I could see Boaz had much more to tell me about the mechanics but he must have sensed my wavering interest. Either that or my eyes glazed over. So he switched tactics and got to what I considered the heart of the matter.
He reached out and laid a hand on the dash. “Beyond all that, she has a killer sound system. We’re talking an Alpine Halo9 iLX-F409 receiver, and Rockford Fosgate P165-SI Punch speakers with integrated concealed crossover.”
“Really”, I said, trying to exude nonchalance. The gleam in his eye showed me that I had failed miserably. He knew he had me.
“Oh, yeah”, he enthused. “Just listen to this”.
Boaz slid into the T-Rex and turned her on, immediately reaching out to the stereo and hitting play. Out boomed Kid Cuti’s “Pursuit of Happiness”, a hipster hip-hop favorite. Not exactly my style, but a good choice to show off the system’s power. Reverberating in the cavernous showroom, it sounded even better than what I had heard in my bedroom the night before.
“Want to take her for a spin? We can put on one of your tunes and cruise the neighborhood.” I didn’t need to be asked twice. He led me to a Neon Yellow Rex out on the lot.
First I had to get in. To say that the T-Rex is low to the ground is like saying that the Empire State Building is tall. I could sense the interest mount in the showroom as I began to bend. As I leaned down to squeeze my bulk through the small opening in the chassis, my left knee let out a loud crack. It had been doing that for years, but I never realized how audible it was until that moment.
If that wasn’t bad enough, I misjudged how far I had to go to the seat and plopped the last few inches, letting out an audible “oomph”. I could hear the snickers behind me, but they were quickly muffled by a stern look from Boaz who clearly hoped that he had hooked a live one.
I should have known that his next question was coming, but it stumped me, nonetheless. “What do you want to listen to?” I was a record guy. I shared a Spotify account with my brother, but I hardly used it. Somehow, in the back of my mind I had thought I could just browse my collection and pick something, but that was not going to happen.
A Coltrane standard, like “Giant Steps”? No, too esoteric. How about “Close to the Edge” by “Yes”? That would get me laughed out of the dealership. Maybe some Beatles? Everyone loves the Beatles. But was that really cruising music?
As the Boaz stared at me, clearly noting my rising indecision, I panicked. I plugged in my phone and simply picked “Daily Mix 1”. I didn’t know what would be on it, but at least it would be something acceptable, wouldn’t it?
But I forgot that this was a shared account, so what came pouring out was my brother’s. His go-to genre is saccharine Broadway musicals, so what I was confronted with, at ear splitting volume, was “Sixteen Going on Seventeen” from “The Sound of Music”.
I was mortified. Instead of something at least semi hip, I was filling the T-Rex with a lame duet between a stupid young girl and her budding Nazi boyfriend. I quickly fumbled for my phone, dropping it of course, all the time trying to explain in a voice loud enough to drown out Rolf that this was not really my taste. Boaz nodded sympathetically, but I could tell he wasn’t buying it.
Twisting to pick up the phone elicited a sharp pain in my back, resulting in another groan. I fought through that pain, driven by my embarrassment and grabbed the phone. I stabbed at the access code, finally typing it right the third time around, and quickly opened the Spotify app, looking up the first album that came to mind. It was “Legend” by Bob Marley. Yes, it was over 50 years old, but not lame!!!
I glanced over at Boaz, who was looking at me like I had three heads and said to him, as nonplussed as possible, “Well, shall we go”?
“Sure” he said, with a sardonic smile.
At that moment I realized this was a manual transmission. In the previous century I had a Pinto with a stick shift. And to be honest, I was never too good with shifting back then. Still, I knew what to do, and was not about to back down now.
I eased the clutch down and slid her into first gear, giving her gas as she engaged. It was not pretty. The first lurch almost sent Boaz through the front opening. Luckily, there was no windshield, or it could have been really ugly.
“Sorry about that” I said sheepishly. “It’s been a while since I used a stick shift”.
“No problem”, he said, but I could hear worry in his voice.
Once we got going it was a bit better. There was still some lurching about, but it generally was smoother.
We ended up on city streets, so I couldn’t open her up, but the power was undeniable. I found it impossible not to rev the engine, or gun it down a block, but the constant stop signs kept me pretty much bridled.
Still, for a moment I was in hog heaven. I was driving a vehicle that was more powerful, more sleek and more rad than any I had even been in before. Music that I loved was blasting from a beautiful sound system. I could get used to this.
Then I noticed the people around me. I saw a middle-aged couple walking on the street glancing at me and then exchanging sour looks. A young man in the next car glared at the Rex. An older woman leaning out a window covered her ears. The negative vibes appeared universal.
I immediately thought back to the night before. I had not minded being awakened in the middle of the night, but was I the exception to the rule? What about Mrs. Johnson who is always complaining about her inability to get a good night’s rest? From what she said, if she was woken, she would never go back to sleep. The Davis’s had a three-month-old baby. Every time I saw them, they looked exhausted. Did the music wake them from some badly needed respite in the baby’s crying?
It was true that I was not driving at night, but what about the people I saw? Did any work a night shift? Did they have any sensitivity to noise triggered by the music I was blaring? Even if they didn’t, they were clearly annoyed.
It dawned on me that I was not taking my music on the road but imposing it on those around me. They were given no choice about what they wanted. Maybe they liked Bob Marley, maybe they didn’t, but shouldn’t they have as much right as I did as to when and where they would listen to it?
I reached over and turned down the volume to a conversational level. Boaz appeared confused. I told him that I was ready to return to the showroom. He said fine and directed me back. I took my time, careful not to rev the engine, or otherwise draw any attention to us, though admittedly the T-Rex did that on its own.
When I got back to the dealership I immediately and effortlessly popped out of the cycle. Before Boaz could say a word, I said, “Thanks so much for the test drive, but this really is not for me.”
He wasn’t giving up that easily. “Can we just go in for a few minutes and let me explain all the benefits. I can give you a good deal. You won’t regret it.”
“No. I don’t want to waste any more of your time or mine. Goodbye.”
I quickly turned, pulled headphones out of my bag, and walked off. I took out my phone, hit the Spotify app and selected “Chet Baker Sings”. I was happy. I had my music, and no one else did.
Life was as it should be.
Great story!
Thanks.