Far away, but not so long ago, there was a man. Father to some. Grandfather to others. Husband to one. Two if you count the bus.
Having taken up a life of travel, he found himself, quite rapidly, the ecstatic owner of an old vintage tour bus. It was long and tall. Humongous by all measures. The stainless steel sides gleamed in the same sun that the tinted windows tried to keep out. The bus had seen better days, for certain. In its decades long rein on the road, the bus was well exercised, but not well cared for. That is, until the bus met with the great fortune of belonging to this man.
In the beginning of their time together, the bus was the source of much drama. It didn’t mean to be so much trouble, but the bus was just so relieved to have an owner who would care for it so well. The bus poured out its litany of needs to the man. So many things needed attention that he had to make a spreadsheet to keep track of them all.
He fixed the plumbing. He fixed the wiring. He fixed and shaped and cared for the old bus for months on end as they traveled from city to city. It was a symbiotic relationship. The bus needed his caring hand. And the man, having recently retired from a long career, needed the joy of purpose that came from fixing it up.
The flurry of drama that accompanied the bus’s initial outpouring of needs, slowly faded with each completed item. Eventually, some seventy projects and line items later, he had replaced or reconditioned nearly every little thing that he could. And the bus was largely at peace.
The bus, however, having been so long neglected before it’s savior arrived, still needed one very large and very important project to put it back to full health. But all the work to be done was underneath and behind wheels and in hard to reach places that require the kind of specialized equipment that can only be found in the largest and most specialized of bus repair shops. The man would have to trust someone else to do the work. Trust is a rare and difficult thing in the world of mechanics and cars; even more rare in the world of humongous tour buses. The bus was nervous too. For nobody had loved the bus like this man. Nobody had cared for and fixed and appreciated the bus like this man. They would both have to summon a level of trust that neither had ever found anyone worthy of. And so he made many calls and did much research to find a repair shop that seemed most worthy of the task. He booked the appointment. He didn’t feel all that much better. Neither did the bus.
After a month of fun in a local small town, they drove, somewhat reluctantly, to the repair shop. It took two days and all their fortitude to roll up to those giant bays. New people in a new place. But the bays were high and spacious. And the people were kind and knowledgeable. The bus felt at ease with these mechanics, as if it had met them before. Maybe it had. Or maybe they just reminded the bus of its savior. The bus thought, perhaps, it would all be OK.
They did not want to be separated. But separated they had to be. So neglected was the poor humongous bus that this delicate operation would need two weeks to complete. So for two weeks, the lay asleep high on the lifts in the shop. And the man lay sleepless low in the bed at the house he had rented. And they trusted, as they really had no choice, that it would all be OK.
He called every day to check on his beloved bus. How is it going? Is it all proceeding well? Each day, the mechanics reassured him, all was going well. The mechanics seemed to understand how the man loved the bus and how deeply the bus, sentient steel as it was, loved the man. And for those mechanics, the bond between man and machine was sacred, as they had known such a bond themselves, each and every one of them.
Those two weeks, challenge going but critically important, flowed by like molasses, slow and lumbering but flowing nonetheless. For the bus, many new parts were installed each day and not a day went by that was not immensely productive. For the man, many new adventures were had in the local town, and not a day went by that was not immensely full with fun, and with thoughts of his bus. The bus slept. The man eventually did too.
On the last day, the man gathered his things early in the morning, excited to see his bus again. His heart raced as he walked through those giant bays to where his beloved bus was parked. The mechanics beamed with pride as they told the man about all the new parts the bus had received. It was a massive undertaking, for sure. But piece by piece and part by part, the bus was returned, at last, to better than new. The operation had gone so smoothly that they marveled at how well the bus had done. It was a no-drama bus, they said. Every mechanic’s dream. Now even the mechanics were in love with the bus and knew very well why the man found it so special.
The man, full of gratitude, and the no-drama bus, full of life, set out that day from the giant bays into their next adventure. And for years and years to come, the no-drama bus, healthy and strong, ruled the road under the watchful eyes of the man who saw its full potential.
