The Motorcycle in My Amazon Cart

and a possible wink from the Universe...

About eleven years ago, my son Charlie—then ten—added a motorcycle to my Amazon cart. I didn’t notice.

I was probably ordering almond flour. Maybe Nerf darts. Whatever we needed to survive third grade. In those early Amazon days, I wasn’t double-checking purchases—I was just trying to get through the day.

So when a truck the size of optimism pulled up to our house in Happy Valley the next afternoon—hissing like a steam engine and lowering an actual motorcycle via industrial lift—I just stood there, stunned.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

I insisted I hadn’t bought it. No way. I ran back into the house and pulled up my laptop—and there it was. Order confirmed. Charlie was standing on the other side of the kitchen island, smiling sheepishly like maybe this had all gone better than expected.

Turns out, returning a motorcycle (technically, an electric dirt bike—but still) is both logistically and financially unreasonable. So we kept it.

That photo? It’s me the next day, flashing a peace sign from the seat of our unexpected new family vehicle. Not technically street-legal, though that didn’t stop us from riding it around the neighborhood like suburban outlaws. I’m wearing a helmet that just… appeared. I honestly don’t know where it came from. Possibly Amazon sorcery?

Eventually, we hauled it up to Truckee and used it for years. It’s since been passed on, but honestly? It was a blast while it lasted.

Fast forward to Wednesday (5/7/25). I told this story to my friend Holly—a fellow boy mom in Truckee who’s been jogging behind her four-year-old as he speeds through the pines on his bike. She’s got that rare mix of sharp mind and open heart, the kind of person who makes space for connection without making a big deal about it. Her husband, a journalist and filmmaker, recently co-produced Planetwalker, which somehow makes their whole family feel even more dialed into nature and narrative.

We laughed about the motorcycle. And then, the next morning (5/8/25), she texted me a link to the New York Times.

The headline? A mom in Kentucky opened her front door to find cases—yes, cases—of Dum Dums lollipops stacked on her porch. Her eight-year-old son had clicked a reorder button, and Amazon delivered: over 70,000 lollipops, totaling $4,200. She was stunned. Mortified. Laughing and crying. All of it.

I stared at my phone. I mean, what are the odds? I tell the story about my son and an accidental motorcycle, and the next day, this weirdly parallel headline lands on the front page of the New York Times Business section?

It didn’t feel random. It felt like a small tear in the fabric—just enough light coming through to suggest we’re all more connected than we think. That maybe the stories we carry send out signals. And sometimes, improbably, the world answers back.

Honestly, if a motorcycle (or some other fantastic item) shows up at Holly’s house next, I won’t be surprised. At this point, it feels karmic.

I didn’t write to the Times when our motorcycle arrived—probably too stunned, definitely too embarrassed. But consider this my belated submission: one accidental purchase, one kid’s dream come true, and a story that still gets told—long after the motorcycle’s gone, but not forgotten.