I started the morning looking up how to make my 2WD work in winter. I know I should have bought 4WD but was smitten by the little rear wheel drive Ford Ranger truck. I’ve wanted a little truck for awhile now and remember my Dad’s 4WD Jeep Comanche truck. I learned to drive a manual in the high school parking lot in Gillette, WY and slowly solidified my skills delivering pizzas for Dominos. The truck did not handle well at all on ice and I was always surprised when my naive self pressed the gas and moved sideways instead of forward. Driving, for me, is like everything else. I’m good enough with the manual transmission but am careless at times and have slid across snow highways more than once somehow always finding a soft bank of snow in which to slam and land.
I’ve been rescued from my own follies in several cars and sometimes think I ought just ask after “What’s your name–do you have AWD and chains? I want to get to know you.” My first accident must have been about a week into getting my license. My first folly was probably the very next day after my 16th birthday. A friend and I were going between the two high school campus locations and I came barreling down a curved residential road and lost control, started to fishtail and watched a hub cap roll off into the yard of some poor citizen. They called the police and I was cited for wreckless driving. Shoulda been cited for a wreckless life then–smoking Marlboro Reds that I was always made to buy because I seemed older in my 6 foot frame. Next accident was a few days later and it was raining. The Mercury Marquis kept stalling out in the big drops and during a left turn I was hit. No one was cited but the girl I hit claimed injury. I liked her even less.
The Mercury saw its demise a few months later coming from the north high school campus. I gazed in my rear view mirror and saw a truck approaching quickly. I braced the steering wheel and was rear-ended by another truck at about 35 miles per hour. Had whip lash and a hurt ankle that had been slammed into the brakes but mostly I was sad that my car was jacked up. Another metaphor for my life–all my friends had to crawl into the passenger side door and we skipped school to drive around in the junker, hub caps flopping off whether or not I was driving too fast. I traded in the Mercury for a 1989 Cadillac Deville with Bose speakers. The car handled so well, accelerated quickly, and sounded bad ass jamming TuPac driving along country roads for extended roadies. I hopped on the interstate one night watching the electronic odometer blink going faster than 85. I drove to Village Inn one night to have coffee and wanted to change the Jimi Hendrix CD and missed a stop sign. I was T-boned at 35 mph and only remember the other driver screaming at me “There was a stop sign, you bitch!” Well, clearly.
I was careless for a bit after the Cadillac debacle and my Dad let me use the truck here and there. I liked the smell of old upholstry and oil. Rocks and the car smelled the same, full of hardened earth and the daily commute to the coal mines. I was eventually able to buy a 1986 Chevy Cavalier for $100 and was promptly pulled over for no insurance or tags. I didn’t even realize one needed these things to drive–always rolling around half clueless and not too worried about consequences. When I was younger I figured I didn’t wanna live much past the age of 29 anyway. The brown sedan had a bumper sticker on the back that said “Tweekers suck”and it made me laugh at the time a clear indication of my age and professionality. I used the little car to deliver pizzas and it actually handled incredibly well in the snow with a heavy metal frame from the 80’s before cars became hurling plastic rockets on wheels. It eventually just stopped working and I bought a 1999 Cavalier, blue, and tinted the windows and got a car “bra” as I called it to catch all the bugs. I think back to how I wrecked the car and can no longer remember just like the first year of college I owned the car.
I just remembered. I lived in a 3 story home and the neighbors on the very top floor had smoked a joint and dropped it in the couch. They caught the couch on fire and doused it with gallons of water and put it outside to sit like a charred dog who had eaten whatever was left on the counter shamed and looking longingly to be let back in. The couch reignited and caught my passenger car tire on fire. I didn’t hear it but the neighbors heard the oil pan blow up and I woke up to loud knocking “Laramie Fire Department–you need to get up and leave the house!” I stepped up out of my concrete basement stairs and saw the headlights of the car on eerily staring at me while flames licked the blue sides of the now totaled vehicle. The neighbors each gave me $2,500 (I didn’t not have full coverage–far too responsible and future oriented) and I bought another Cavalier. This time silver, I drove it back and forth from Gillette to Laramie dozens of time eventually selling it to have some extra cash when I started my life over in 2009. I bought another 1986 Cavalier and even drove the sucker to Cheyenne for training to work at Papa Johns. In the pizza biz again.
When I entered graduate school I had some extra cash and bought a 2004 Ford Focus. I had entered the 2000’s and felt super awesome about it purchasing a manual not necessarily on purpose but because the shoe fit. I drove the heck outta that car heading to Fort Collins every weekend to satisfy my hot yoga fix, parking in Whole Foods to eat salads and then to the theater to sit on the couches in back to watch movies that moved me to tears. The car came with me on my move to Colorado and I stepped outside of the Pilates studio in Pagosa one November evening and the thing wouldn’t start. Embarrassingly enough, I blew the engine from no oil. I had rescued a friend in 2004 for doing the same thing and while crushed I will still amused at my ability to be inept at simple tasks. I was rescued by one of my resident assistants and smiled as she described what she felt was a harrowing drive over the pass, sliding by “rock crumbles” that scared her enough to white knuckle the steering wheel. I was so thankful for her and every other person who had tied chains to my metaphorically stuck self and pulled me out of disaster.
I once told someone my life was a string of second chances, and I’m fairly sure I’ve written about it. “That means you can’t get anything right the first time.” That is exactly what it means. I have to solicit help from the folks I’ve managed to create friendships with and if I’m stuck in the one patch of ice left in the driveway in March, I’ll find some fellows from Louisiana with nothing better to do to pull me out and buy me dinner. It feels less like manipulation and more like utility–I know someday the wrecked and stuck vehicles of my life will turn into careful, mindful, and safe driving in a car with electronic windows and all wheel drive. But, I’m still getting my kicks buying all my cars through private parties–negotiating the price and rarely paying more than $1000. I plan on putting snow tires on this truck and loading up the back with sandbags to put weight over the tires. The advice is to start in 2nd or 3rd to avoid the torque of 1st and to find an empty parking to tear around and see how the vehicle handles. Maybe that’s what this is all about–tooling around in the empty parking of my life to see how I handle. Pump the brakes of my personality and feather the gas of my need to do everything at once. After all, it’s all just a ride.
“The world is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it’s real because that’s how powerful our minds are. The ride goes up and down, around and around, it has thrills and chills, and it’s very brightly colored, and it’s very loud, and it’s fun for a while. Many people have been on the ride a long time, and they begin to wonder, “Hey, is this real, or is this just a ride?” And other people have remembered, and they come back to us and say, “Hey, don’t worry; don’t be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride.” And we … kill those people. “Shut him up! I’ve got a lot invested in this ride, shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry, look at my big bank account, and my family. This has to be real.” It’s just a ride. But we always kill the good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok … But it doesn’t matter, because it’s just a ride. And we can change it any time we want. It’s only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings of money. Just a simple choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love instead see all of us as one. Here’s what we can do to change the world, right now, to a better ride. Take all that money we spend on weapons and defenses each year and instead spend it feeding and clothing and educating the poor of the world, which it would pay for many times over, not one human being excluded, and we could explore space, together, both inner and outer, forever, in peace.”
― Bill Hicks