The frontal lobe is in the way

We fly most of our trip around the world. Sometimes we can't fly. In these cases we drive the cargo bus into the thick of jungle and winding dirt roads that create a mist of confusion. The Capn keeps it real low and drives the bus like it is glued to the road. The rubber grips the road. We bounce back and forth grabbing what we can to keep our limbs inside the bus. His eyes glow with excitement. His mind on the prize and his body one with the bus. His movement becomes that of a machine. The very machine he sits in becomes an extention of his arms and legs. You can feel the passion in his body for travel. Mud flies from the tires, dust clouds flowing behind the bus like fast moving streams, snow melts with just the slightest notion of his presence. Soon the day is night. Headlights crawling over shadows revealing hidden treasures that lay in the dark. The journey is in the ninth hour and the monstrous climb to the top of this massive mountain is beginning to wear on the busses old body but the Capn drives the bus like it was straight out of the factory in '58. It's tires crying now, the engine moaning in pain as it is pushed to the peak of exhaustion. Suddenly there's a jerk and a sputter the bus has stopped. Smoke rises and liquids spurt from cracks in it's now rusted and battered hood. The Capn turns slowly to us and explains " She's had it. She can't take anymore. Her old body just can't handle anymore punishment. We'll have to leave her here." His eyes welled up as tears formed in the corner of his eyes. The Capn had owned this bus for 30 years and they had many adventures together. To leave her here in this state broke his heart. We unloaded the cargo and placed it onto trolleys and hand trucks. The crew and Capn made their way to the small village which they had deliveries for and left the Capn's treasured bus behind. The crew shared the sorrow of the Capn's loss. That night the Capn sat alone in the darkest corner of the bar and drank to his beloved bus.