So that’s how it is, then. I see it all clearly now. My eyes have been opened. Knock over one tiny little fence on a hardly-used country road, and you may resign yourself to suffering suspicion and scorn and untoward aspersions upon your otherwise unparalleled driving skill from your technology-despising spouse for the rest of your life. Never mind all the places I’ve delivered him safely, noooo; never mind that the fence was about to fall over anyway and a child could see that I was just helping it along to its natural and inevitable end. Obviously I am a dire menace to the good and decent streetfaring society, my mechano-hog a threat to life and limb of all those who venture near! Or at least all those who cannot tell a precision instrument of speed and agility from a runaway haycart that has caught afire.
Who puts a fence in the middle of a road, anyway? Barbarians, that’s who.