Planes, helicopters and bikes
In the 1987 movie, “Planes, Trains and Automobiles,” Steve Martin and John Candy spend three crazy days on various modes of transportation trying to go from New York to Chicago in time for Thanksgiving.
For my son Tim, his version of motorized mayhem has included four-seat planes, helicopters, fire trucks and non-emergency ambulance rides.
In his world of autism, there lives a fascination with how things work, as well as the freedom of movement and the desire to be involved in life.
Although he is nearly a decade past the legal age to drive, Tim will never get behind the wheel, but that has not prevented him from enjoying rides of all kinds.
Three such adventures stick out.
Our local fire department, especially Chief Bill Hess Jr. and his father Bill Sr., learned that Tim wanted to ride a fire truck. Tim was still a young boy when the Hesses invited us to bring him down to the station.
They took him out for a ride on one of the newer trucks, Tim grinning from ear to ear during the trip. When we got back to the station, the chief suggested we take another of the vehicles out for a spin, Tim riding shotgun. Then we went out on the historic truck. And on another. With me accompanying him, Tim seemingly rode on the whole fleet that night.
They have since invited him to the station where he helped wash the fire trucks.
On one wall of his bedroom is a mural I painted for him of a fire truck with a few of his beloved Sesame Street characters along for the ride. Is Elmo symbolic of Tim? If so, does that make me Cookie Monster?
Fast forward to 2004. On a warm early fall afternoon, we drove Tim to a location along Route 51 in Rostraver Township. As we arrived, Tim began to realize we had arrived at the Rostraver Airport and began to realize the secret, special event planned for him.
My youngest son Tyler got the front passenger seat, and I sat in the back of the four-seater with Tim … just to make sure he did not try to open the door at several thousand feet. We weren’t wearing parachutes.
It was amazing how fast we could navigate in the air from Brownsville to Elizabeth. (Can I borrow this craft for my next staff meeting?) We found the kids’ schools and eventually our home. From above, the world below all looks flat.
And breathtaking.
The best view was seen through Tim’s eyes.
Though I’ve never been on a motorcycle, the bikers I’ve met in the Valley and surrounding communities are among the most generous down-to-earth people I’ve ever met.
Give them a good cause — from autism to cancer to veterans – and they will hop on their bikes and ride to raise funds. And they do so without fanfare. Time and time again.
So it came as no surprise when my niece’s father-in-law offered to take Tim for a ride on his two-seat motorcycle.
He quickly zipped up his jacket and got comfortable on the back seat. He looked up as if to say, “Ok, I’m ready. Let’s get this thing on the road.”
Before we could wonder aloud, “Will he be able to balance on the bike,” away they went down the street. As they turned the corner out of sight, Tim was still glued to the seat, figuratively speaking that is.
When they arrived back at my brother-in-laws house, Dan asked Tim if he wanted to go again. Tim looked at him as if to say, “Really? Is that a serious question.”
“That look says it all,” Dan said with a laugh.
After a couple tours of the neighborhood, they came in for good.
While these rides have been of endless value to Tim, the measures that others have taken to make sure they have happened has illustrated his true value.
To this day, each time he sees me, Bill Sr. will ask, “How’s my buddy?”
And as Tim laid down for the evening Saturday night, I asked him did you have a good day. With a grin so broad that it would make even the Cheshire cat happy, Tim replied, “Yea, Yeah” then lifted his hands as though grasping the handlebars and said, “motor.”