Road Hog

   Pork Fillingsworth is a moderately successful investment banker.  Normally, at this time in the morning, he would be at work, sitting behind his desk making money for his clients and, in doing so, himself. Today, however, he was on a freeway, driving to his Aunt Charlotte's house on the coast. He rarely drove and didn't even own a car, he usually took public transportation or a cab to go wherever he needed to get to. He had taken the long bus ride to his aunt's house many times over the years and each time he swore it was the last. He felt it took took longer than necessary, especially when seated next to someone who wanted to tell him their life story, which seemed to happen more often than not. He liked a good story, but most people who rode a bus to the coast told long rambling tales of woe that went off on one digression after another and never seemed to get anywhere close to an ending, despite having three hours to get there. His Aunt Charlotte, on the other hand, knew how to tell a story well and he loved to hear her talk about the family history. His favorite story was about the old family friend she was named after. It was a sad, but inspiring tale.

   Today he had rented a little two-door hybrid and was feeling good about his choice. If he was going to drive by himself then he wanted to at least try and not waste precious resources with his self-indulgence. He had the radio tuned to the local NPR station to keep him company and was driving a steady sixty-three miles per hour, no sense in risking a speeding ticket. The cup of hot tea sitting in the cupholder was one of his favorite things about driving a car, you didn't have that on a bus. As he pulled over to take a picture of an old rustic barn he realized another thing, you could stop whenever you wanted when you had a car. He had passed by that barn for years and this was the first time he been able to get a picture of it that didn't have any blurry trees. It was also the first time he was able to snap more than one picture of the barn. He didn't get back on the road until he had shot a whole roll of film.

   He drove on, pulling over whenever it struck his fancy. Whether to take more pictures or buy more tea, it didn't matter, he got to decide when and where to stop. The longer he thought about it the more he wanted to get something for the occasional drive out of the city. Two hours into the drive he was passed by a group of choppers and, for the next twenty minutes, he found himself daydreaming of riding one on a country lane with the wind in his face. He imagined packing a little picnic lunch and eating it by a small stream with birds chirping happily at him. By the time he pulled into his Aunt Charlotte's driveway, he had decided to buy a motorcycle. Maybe not one of the big ones, like those that had passed him, but he definitely wanted to buy something with two wheels.

Pork Fillingsworth will return in Hog Wild