In the “relics of transportation tools” in the backyard of my house, there is a fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycle, which can be regarded as the “number one bizarre thing” in my family. The origin of this motorcycle is no simple matter. My father managed to dig out this “treasure” from the “jungle of scrap iron” in the second-hand car market, just like an archaeologist excavating dinosaur fossils. When it first entered our home, the scene was as if it had driven out directly from a scene of a crazy sci-fi wasteland movie, exuding a unique and indescribable aura that made people laugh.

To talk about its bizarreness, we have to mention the windshield first. That thing is not so much a windshield as a “distorted iron plate” that has been ruthlessly “abused” by time. The surface of the plate is full of bumps and scratches crisscrossing, as if it had been scribbled on by a group of naughty little alien monsters with “secret weapons”. And it is installed crookedly. No matter how my father uses wrenches and screwdrivers to deal with it, it is determined to maintain that stubborn look of “This is how I am, and I don’t care what you think”. Every time we look at it, it makes people wonder if it is playing a “disobedient game” with the front of the motorcycle.

The starting sound of this motorcycle is even more unique. Every time it is ignited, the noise is simply like the explosion of a “super sonic bomb”. As soon as it rings, the pets in the house are immediately in a mess: the cat dashes under the sofa at a 100-meter sprint speed, only showing a pair of terrified eyes; the parrot jumps up and down in the cage and screams at the top of its lungs, and the sound seems to be shouting “The end of the world is coming!”; even the little fish in the fish tank are so scared that they swim frantically in the water, as if they are looking for a shelter. The sound is so loud that it feels like it can be heard several streets away, as if the motorcycle is madly declaring to the whole world: “Hey! Listen up, I, a bizarre three-wheeled motorcycle with a super personality, am going to make a dazzling appearance on the street!”

Once, my father planned to take my mother and me on a picnic in the suburbs. Before we set off, we piled all kinds of food and picnic mats into the cargo box at once. The cargo box was instantly stuffed to the brim, looking just like a giant package about to burst. Not long after we hit the road, the motorcycle began to “protest”. The engine made a “putt-putt-putt” sound, as if it was gasping for breath. Every time it moved forward a certain distance, it was like running a difficult marathon. Finally, we managed to reach the suburbs. Just as we were about to park, the motorcycle, as if deliberately causing trouble, suddenly made an “emergency brake”, and directly threw out several pieces of food from the cargo box. Apples and bread rolled all over the grass, like a group of cheerful little elves playing an “escape game”. My father looked at all this helplessly, while my mother and I laughed until tears almost came out.

Another time, my father went to transport building materials. A full load of bricks and cement bags piled up like a hill in the motorcycle. The poor motorcycle was pressed so hard that its body was almost touching the ground, and the tires were squeezed out of shape. But it still drove tenaciously, just like a soldier who was seriously injured but would never back down. Along the way, the sound it made seemed to be gnashing its teeth and saying: “Hmph, this little weight can’t stump me. I can hold on a little longer!” Passers-by cast surprised glances one after another, and some people couldn’t help but tease: “What kind of ‘power pills’ did this motorcycle take? It can actually bear such a heavy load!”

When I was in middle school, every time my father sent me to school on this motorcycle, I felt like I was on a “secret mission”. I always asked my father to park the motorcycle far away from the school, and then sneaked into the school furtively, for fear that my classmates would see me riding such a “bizarre vehicle”. Once, I was in such a hurry to get off the motorcycle that I accidentally left my schoolbag on it. By the time I realized it, my father had already driven a long way. I could only chase after him while shouting: “Dad, my schoolbag, my schoolbag!” The scene was like a funny chase drama, and the passers-by on the road were all amused and laughed heartily.

Later, as time went by, this bizarre fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycle gradually couldn’t keep up with the needs of our family, and my father sent it to the scrap recycling station. Although it has left us, the happy, embarrassing and interesting memories it brought us will always remain in our hearts. Maybe one day, in a dream full of whimsical ideas, I will mount it again and start a new crazy adventure with it, to explore those unknown and hilarious journeys.