I've been so focused and frustrated with the repairs to the vehicle lately, that I haven't taken the time to relax and reflect. This afternoon I had a moment of pause, and a vivid memory from my ownership experience came to mind. I had planned to eventually write down a lengthy, multi-part chronicle of my purchase and road trip home from Connecticut, but I think I'll tell this story now.
It was the second day of my road trip home with the DeLorean. If I recall correctly, I was somewhere in Pennsylvania heading for the edge of Maryland. I will never remember the town. It was one of the many tired no-name remnants of Americana I flashed through on the way back to Atlanta.
The sun was just starting to turn orange behind the weathered early-20th century buildings. I was following state roads to keep the car off the highway. The benefit was little to no rocks being thrown up on my new car. The drawback was navigation confusion as the roads wound around and signs pointed to out of date avenues or simply paths to nowhere.
Expectedly, as I followed the road down the main drag of the tiny town I was in, the signs suddenly sent me to the right and then after two blocks, I was sent to the left and then immediately left again, where I found myself behind some apartment houses, with some young kids playing ball in the street. They couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 years old. As I slowly drove past, they stopped and looked with curiosity, but no recognition.
Then I turned left at the end of the street and found the signs telling me to go right at the end, back onto the first detour. The signs had just made me do a pointless loop. Ugh.
The road was on an incline and going right was going back up the hill. As I lunged the DeLorean back onto the road to head back to the main street where I would take a right and keep going, ever thankful for the pointless extra gas and time wasted on that little loop, I passed a man on the sidewalk on my right.
The man looked to be in his 40s, though maybe he was a weathered late-30s or well-preserved early-50s. It was hard to tell. The orange pallor of the sunlight was going purple behind the town.
What I didn't miss was the automatic wheelchair he was seated in, and the speed with which he turned the wheelchair to follow the DeLorean as it zoomed by. I saw his face only for an instant, and he was slack-jawed with surprise, his eyes wide and trying to take it all in as fast as he could.
I could tell he was absolutely stunned. He knew exactly what car he was looking at, and he didn't expect to see it driving by in a flash in the tiny town where he lived. I often wonder if he'd ever seen one in person before. I often wonder if it was his favorite car, or maybe he was just a car enthusiast. Either way, I look back and think two things: First - Why didn't I stop? Well, there was nowhere to do so, and you can't stop for every pointing finger, but in this case I often wish I had done differently. Secondly, I think to myself, "He clearly loved DeLoreans, and likely had never seen one in person before, but the chances are slim to none he would ever get to drive one." It always makes me feel simultaneously very sad and very lucky.
It is moments like these that make owning this car worth it. I'm glad I chose to take the backroads for many reasons, but the one that stands out the most in my mind is that man in the wheelchair in that tiny forgotten town, completely surprised. I hope 6239 gave him a good memory.
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