In a corner of the small yard of my family, which can be regarded as a “treasure chest of transportation tools”, there once quietly parked a “legendary” windshield-equipped fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycle. It was definitely the “topic maker” in our family. This motorcycle was not a “distinguished guest” invited from some high-end and fashionable specialty store. Instead, my father painstakingly dug it out from the “treasure heap” of the second-hand car market, just like a treasure hunter discovering a rare and precious treasure. When it was driven into our home for the first time, its demeanor was exactly like a “mysterious war chariot” that had traveled through from the western wilderness, exuding a unique and elusive aura all over.

First, take a look at its windshield. Although it’s called a windshield, it actually looks more like a “deformed shield” that has gone through many vicissitudes. The surface of the board, which should have been flat and smooth originally, is now covered with various scratches and dents, as if it has been bitten by countless little monsters one after another. And this windshield is especially “stubborn”, fixed crookedly on the front of the motorcycle. No matter how my father fiddles with it, it firmly maintains its own unique “shape”, as if it were saying proudly, “I just like it this way. What can you do about it!” Every time the motorcycle is started, the sound is simply like a “super loudspeaker” roaring. As soon as the motor starts, not only are the cats and dogs in our family scared out of their wits, but even the chickens in the neighbor’s house start flapping their wings and clucking loudly, as if they are collectively protesting against this sudden “noise attack”. That sound is like the motorcycle declaring domineeringly to the whole world, “Pay attention! I, a three-wheeled motorcycle with a super personality, am about to start a crazy journey!”

As soon as summer comes, sitting in this motorcycle is simply a challenge to the “limit of human heat resistance”. The narrow space inside the vehicle instantly turns into a high-temperature “inferno”. Coupled with that windshield that is almost useless, it simply can’t block the billowing heat waves. The heat is like a group of naughty and mischievous little devils, frantically drilling into you from all directions. Sitting inside, I feel like a sausage that has been put into a microwave oven and heated on high. Sweat gushes out from my forehead, back, and even every pore like a flood breaking through a dam. Once, I really couldn’t stand the heat anymore, so I jokingly said to my father, “Dad, we don’t need to modify this motorcycle. Just take it directly to the desert and rent it out as a sauna room. We’re sure to make a lot of money. Maybe it can even become a popular project for desert tourism!”

Despite the motorcycle having a lot of problems, in our family, it has made remarkable achievements. If we compare the life of our family to an extremely exciting adventure game, then it is definitely my father’s most capable “super war horse”. Every day, my father drives it, speeding through the streets and alleys. Sometimes he takes me, this “little troublemaker”, to school, and sometimes he carries mountains of goods to work. Once, my father went to transport building materials. A full load of bricks piled up like a towering hill, almost burying the small motorcycle out of sight. Standing aside, I was really worried and thought to myself, “With this small body and such an unreliable windshield, can it bear the load?” As a result, it really swayed and started with a huff, like a fearless and unyielding warrior, moving forward bravely and not being intimidated by the difficulties at all. Its appearance seemed to be saying, “Such a small challenge is simply a piece of cake!”

During my high school years, I had a love-hate relationship with this “treasured” motorcycle. Every time my father took me to school, I was like a thief, asking him to stop the vehicle miles away from the school. Why? It was just because I was afraid that my classmates would see me sitting on such a “retro and strange” motorcycle and I would lose face. Once, I had just gotten off the vehicle and was about to sneak away like a thief when I turned around and bumped into the “big mouth” classmate in my class. He widened his eyes, looked at the “unique” motorcycle behind me, opened his mouth so wide that he could stuff an egg in it, and shouted loudly, “Wow! This motorcycle of your family is so cool! Did you borrow it as a prop from which movie set? This windshield is really full of personality!” I was so embarrassed at that moment that my face instantly turned as red as a ripe tomato, and I wished I could find a crack in the ground and crawl in. While complaining in my heart that the motorcycle was too eye-catching, I had to admit that it indeed had a unique “charm” that people couldn’t ignore.

Once, our whole family went out together, but halfway through the journey, the motorcycle suddenly “threw a tantrum”. The engine made a few rattling sounds and then completely stopped working. My father was as anxious as an ant on a hot pan in the driver’s seat. He kept fiddling with various buttons and muttering to himself, “Old buddy, don’t let us down at this moment, especially you, this windshield. You have to hold steady at the critical moment!” My mother and I then used all our strength to push the vehicle from behind. The three of us were like the protagonists in a ridiculous and funny play. My father “commanded the battle” in the front, and my mother and I pushed with all our might in the back. Every step we took felt like a challenge to the limits of human physical strength. Passers-by cast curious glances one after another. A naughty child even shouted loudly, “Come on, uncle and aunt! Are you playing a super vehicle-pushing competition? This motorcycle’s windshield is really fun!” At that moment, I really wished that this motorcycle could instantly regain its power and take us away from this extremely embarrassing scene.

After that “vehicle-pushing incident”, I couldn’t hold back anymore and said to my father, “Dad, let’s sell this motorcycle. It’s too unreliable, and this windshield feels like just a decoration.” Maybe the motorcycle had really reached the age of “retirement”, or maybe my father had a new change in his job. In any case, not long after, it was sold at a “rock-bottom price”.

Later, I had to squeeze onto the bus to go to school every day. In the crowded carriage, I was jostled around by the crowd while still holding my schoolbag and various books tightly in my hands. Every time at this moment, I would miss that three-wheeled motorcycle that I had once disliked so much. Although it was shabby and old and always had all sorts of problems, and that windshield was always “not doing its job”, it brought me a unique sense of freedom. Sitting on it, the wind blowing in my face seemed to carry the smell of home. Now I finally understand that some things can only be known to be precious after they are lost. Just like the “stubborn” windshield-equipped fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycle in my family, although it has left us, the laughter and memories it brought us will always remain in our hearts. Maybe one day, I will sit on it again in my dream and start a new crazy adventure journey with it!