Wanna Race?!?
I decided to build a chariot. I had needs, you see, to get from point A to point B. I had responsibilities too. I had to get there on time, couldn’t be late, and had precious cargo to move with me from point A to point B. Oh yeah, and I needed to get there safely. I had a job to do, and I decided a chariot would be just the thing I needed, to help me get my job done.
I knew just enough about chariots that I set forth optimistically, with confidence I would be able to accomplish this task. I decided what features it should have, and made a tool and supply list. I asked for advice and help with the things I had touble with, that were beyond my skill level. As I planned, I built, modified, reduced and added. Sometimes, I had to run back to the store for more parts. Sometimes I walked into the shop with a tool I thought I would need, but then it turned out not to work so well, so I had to go back and get a different tool.
I worked furiously and focusedly on this chariot for nearly two years. Some would say I was obsessed with my project. But when I thought it complete, I was quite pleased with what I had built. I kicked the tires, made sure it fit me well, and decided it was time to take it for a test drive, to see if it was road worthy. After working out a couple snags, I found it worked very much as I had hoped it would. I knew I would need to make continued modifications to it, improvements and upgrades from time to time, but I was, generally speaking, pleased with what I had built. It met my needs.
It around this time that I finally looked up from my work. You can imagine my surprise, when I saw an enormous bandwagon in front of me. The size of it was overwhelming, it held so many people! I walked around it, looking at its features and mechanics, and was pleasantly surprised to find it shared many of the same features I had incorporated into my chariot. I smiled. I did in fact like their bandwagon, in a general sense, and told the people on board so.
“Would you like to ride on the bandwagon with us?” someone from the crowd offered. I thought that was awfully neighborly of them to offer, and I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. You see, I had to decline, but not because I didn’t like their wagon. I just didn’t need a ride, I had my newly completed chariot I was looking forward to using. I explained that to them.
“Are you sure? Your chariot looks…well…small. And simple. Are you sure it’s sturdy? Will it get you where you want to go?” they asked. I assured them, yes, I was confident it would.
Of course, for as many polite folks there were on board, there was one smart talker. “Well, good luck with your chariot,” he sneered sarcastically. Although he didn’t know how my chariot was built, he was sure it was inferior to the bandwagon he was riding. I have to admit, I was a bit offended, but I tried to be polite.
“Oh gosh, thanks for the well wishes, sir, but I do not need luck! My chariot is wonderful, and I have a great deal of faith in it.”
I knew just enough about chariots that I set forth optimistically, with confidence I would be able to accomplish this task. I decided what features it should have, and made a tool and supply list. I asked for advice and help with the things I had touble with, that were beyond my skill level. As I planned, I built, modified, reduced and added. Sometimes, I had to run back to the store for more parts. Sometimes I walked into the shop with a tool I thought I would need, but then it turned out not to work so well, so I had to go back and get a different tool.
I worked furiously and focusedly on this chariot for nearly two years. Some would say I was obsessed with my project. But when I thought it complete, I was quite pleased with what I had built. I kicked the tires, made sure it fit me well, and decided it was time to take it for a test drive, to see if it was road worthy. After working out a couple snags, I found it worked very much as I had hoped it would. I knew I would need to make continued modifications to it, improvements and upgrades from time to time, but I was, generally speaking, pleased with what I had built. It met my needs.
It around this time that I finally looked up from my work. You can imagine my surprise, when I saw an enormous bandwagon in front of me. The size of it was overwhelming, it held so many people! I walked around it, looking at its features and mechanics, and was pleasantly surprised to find it shared many of the same features I had incorporated into my chariot. I smiled. I did in fact like their bandwagon, in a general sense, and told the people on board so.
“Would you like to ride on the bandwagon with us?” someone from the crowd offered. I thought that was awfully neighborly of them to offer, and I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. You see, I had to decline, but not because I didn’t like their wagon. I just didn’t need a ride, I had my newly completed chariot I was looking forward to using. I explained that to them.
“Are you sure? Your chariot looks…well…small. And simple. Are you sure it’s sturdy? Will it get you where you want to go?” they asked. I assured them, yes, I was confident it would.
Of course, for as many polite folks there were on board, there was one smart talker. “Well, good luck with your chariot,” he sneered sarcastically. Although he didn’t know how my chariot was built, he was sure it was inferior to the bandwagon he was riding. I have to admit, I was a bit offended, but I tried to be polite.
“Oh gosh, thanks for the well wishes, sir, but I do not need luck! My chariot is wonderful, and I have a great deal of faith in it.”
But he would not relent. “Oh you do, do you? Well, you wanna race? I don’t think that piece of crap wagon will get you far…but if you like it so well, care to place a wager on it?” I could see he fully expected to best me, and was hoping my ego would lure me into a competition I was sure to lose. I however, was NOT sure I would lose. Quite the opposite, actually.
“Well, that’s a sporting offer of you, sir! Certainly, that sounds like fun. Name the conditions and terms of our race and wager, and you have yourself a deal,” I replied.
“Well, that’s a sporting offer of you, sir! Certainly, that sounds like fun. Name the conditions and terms of our race and wager, and you have yourself a deal,” I replied.
The terms were set, the race began. The bandwagon folks were fun to watch, honestly. They were hooting and hollering, cheering for their driver, and excited about their sure victory. It brought me joy to see such enthusiasm and confidence, and I really didn’t wish to take that away from them. But I did want them to respect my chariot. I did want them to see it was as road worthy as their own ride. Then, the inevitable happened. We each hit the rocky terrain that was part of the course. Ok, maybe it wasn’t right of me, but I did negotiate that stretch in. You see, it was this rocky part that would test each of our rigs. I counted on it to reveal the true quality of the workmanship of each, and I was not disappointed. Parts began to fall from each of our rigs, springs and bolts, and the snapping of wood filled the air. Wow. Ok, so, it was even tougher than I had expected. But that was ok, I didn’t mind. Each of us had to slow our rigs to a stop, survey the damage, and set about making repairs.
That was not a problem for me. I gathered up the parts left in the dust, determined which could be re-used, and which were broken beyond repair. I had brought with me what I felt were essential tools, so it was not difficult to cut new pieces of wood, and replace and repair the things that had sustained damaged. I did so quickly and efficiently.
Unfortunately, the bandwagon people did not anticipate this bit of trouble, and had not brought tools, or what they had brought were insufficient. Additionally, they seemed a bit confused about what to do with their tools. I overheard one ask his neighbor, “What do we do now?”
His neighbor shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, but somebody will get us up and running. Don’t worry.”
The banter on the bandwagon got louder and more animated. “I don’t know, I just hopped on ten minutes ago! Go ask someone who’s been here longer!” Or, “Oh, I’m just here with my friend, because she asked me along. I have no investment in the bandwagon whatsoever.” Eventually, everyone decided the driver was the person in charge. After all, he had been here the longest, and it was his wagon.
He looked down at the ground, and shuffled his feet. The crowd got quiet, and waited for his response. “I’m sorry, folks. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t build this wagon….I actually bought it from a guy four years ago, and I just drive it.” You could see the embarrassment on his face and shame in his posture. He regretted the mess they were in, and didn’t know how to get out of this fix. I felt badly for him, and walked over with my tools.
“Oh, don’t worry guys, it’s not so bad as it seems. Here, you two take these tools, and go fix this. You, take this tool, and fix that. You can use my tools, I’ll help you, we’ll get you up and running.” And that’s just how it went. It wasn’t any big deal, we fixed both the wagons, and ended up crossing the finish line together. The competition was forgotten, replaced by friendship and goodwill. The smart talker didn’t have much to contribute, and we all appreciated his silence on the ride home.
The moral of the story? If you build your own chariot, you know how to fix it when you need to fix it. If you jump on the bandwagon, you’re at the mercy of the driver, who may or may not know where you’re going, or what to do in a fix. Sure, it takes some time and thought to build your own chariot. But you’ll be glad you did come rough country.
That was not a problem for me. I gathered up the parts left in the dust, determined which could be re-used, and which were broken beyond repair. I had brought with me what I felt were essential tools, so it was not difficult to cut new pieces of wood, and replace and repair the things that had sustained damaged. I did so quickly and efficiently.
Unfortunately, the bandwagon people did not anticipate this bit of trouble, and had not brought tools, or what they had brought were insufficient. Additionally, they seemed a bit confused about what to do with their tools. I overheard one ask his neighbor, “What do we do now?”
His neighbor shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, but somebody will get us up and running. Don’t worry.”
The banter on the bandwagon got louder and more animated. “I don’t know, I just hopped on ten minutes ago! Go ask someone who’s been here longer!” Or, “Oh, I’m just here with my friend, because she asked me along. I have no investment in the bandwagon whatsoever.” Eventually, everyone decided the driver was the person in charge. After all, he had been here the longest, and it was his wagon.
He looked down at the ground, and shuffled his feet. The crowd got quiet, and waited for his response. “I’m sorry, folks. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t build this wagon….I actually bought it from a guy four years ago, and I just drive it.” You could see the embarrassment on his face and shame in his posture. He regretted the mess they were in, and didn’t know how to get out of this fix. I felt badly for him, and walked over with my tools.
“Oh, don’t worry guys, it’s not so bad as it seems. Here, you two take these tools, and go fix this. You, take this tool, and fix that. You can use my tools, I’ll help you, we’ll get you up and running.” And that’s just how it went. It wasn’t any big deal, we fixed both the wagons, and ended up crossing the finish line together. The competition was forgotten, replaced by friendship and goodwill. The smart talker didn’t have much to contribute, and we all appreciated his silence on the ride home.
The moral of the story? If you build your own chariot, you know how to fix it when you need to fix it. If you jump on the bandwagon, you’re at the mercy of the driver, who may or may not know where you’re going, or what to do in a fix. Sure, it takes some time and thought to build your own chariot. But you’ll be glad you did come rough country.
2.17.12 TME
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Educated Equestrian
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Educated Equestrian