“Dang, this street is narrow” I think to myself. “Are we going to fit?” Before us lay a slim gap lodged between two solid concrete walls misleadingly called a street. Jutting out like massive booby traps were more obstacles than a Championlink golf course; telephone poles, bike stands, and signs warning of pedestrians. This passageway was barely wide large enough to fit Rush Limbaugh, let alone a passenger car with three people and a corresponding amount of baggage. Of course, as the valiant driver, I didn’t tell my passengers about my grave concerns and embodied a confident façade. However, the left half of my brain had grim images of missing paint, or even worse, being indefinitely wedged between centuries old stonework. Gingerly, we crawled along inch by inch and like passengers in a plane during a storm, gawked out the windows at how close we were to the passing hurdles. Finally, success! We clear the barricades and move onto the next street full of hardships. There’s a famous advertising quote from the early 20th Century “The right tool for the right job.” In this case, we had the perfect tool to overcome this situation; the Mazda AZ Wagon.
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