I hate to admit it, but there was a time I was against motor vehicle inspections. I always thought they were a waste of energy. For me, anyway; they got in my way. The fact that they existed forced me to do something I didn’t want to do – an extra and irritating chore. And honestly, they still do get in my way, but that’s because of the simple fact that I know how to perform my own vehicle maintenance and repairs.

The good folks of Maine were stricken by some sort of disease last month. None of us knew what it was, but nearly all of us were affected, me included. At first, I thought it was a simple head cold induced by some dust that was cast into the air by a propane heater fan. Dust has been a trigger for me for most of my life. In fact, back in 2012, I trained Muay Thai at a club in Connecticut that used forced hot air as its heat source. The heat used to run while we were in class. That year, I caught seven head colds in the one season due to the dust spewed from the system. It was terrible.

This may turn out to be an unusual post. Right now, I’m not entirely sure what I’ll write. As I sit here, nothing particularly cohesive has come to mind, but I’ll give it my best effort. After all, that’s what moments like this call for, doing my best. The challenge is that I’m feeling a certain way, yet I haven’t quite found the words to express it clearly.

Back in the 1990s, there was a quarterback for the New York Giants named Dave Brown. I remember watching him play. He was one of the best quarterbacks I’ve ever seen throw a ball. When Dave was on, he was really on. And when he was in this state, he seemingly transformed the football into a missile. Such accuracy and elegance. And speed! Boy, I remember watching those games when Dave was playing well. It was like nothing could stop him.

Throughout my life, I’ve lived in New York, Georgia, Connecticut, Florida, and Maine. I’ve never really concerned myself with my cars rusting out until I arrived in Maine. In New York and Connecticut, yes, the winter roads are sanded and salted, but I’m not sure I noticed any discernable difference between when I purchased a vehicle and when I sold it, rust-wise. Nothing ever seemed to happen in a bad way. That’s not to mean that cars don’t rust in those states because they certainly do. I have a long history of family members needing to repair holes in their floorboards – you know the type; you’re a little kid driving down the road with your father in his old truck. You can see the blacktop and painted street lines pass you by underneath your feet. Yeah, those good ol’ days.