I hate driving, and the reason is, I can’t drive anymore.
Oh, I can noodle around on local roads without much traffic on Sunday mornings in perfect weather conditions. But increasingly, it’s becoming harder for me to negotiate even moderately poor conditions.
This has been coming for a while. I was one of those guys who cringed when stuck behind an elderly person moving at snail speed, clenching my teeth, it being all I can do not to lean on the horn.
Now I am one of those people. I grip the wheel with both hands, shoulders hunched in tension. I dread changing lanes, so I stay behind buses, garbage trucks, road construction, farm machinery, and salt spreaders, much to the consternation of passengers. Here I gotta be honest. My passenger load has diminished greatly. Who wants to ride with a guy too nervous to switch on wipers until he gets to a red light?
Everything bothers me in a car. My seat is too high, too close to the steering wheel, my jacket hood keeps strangling me, my wallet presses against my sciatic nerve, my glasses slide, my armpit itches, the radio’s has too much static, and there’s a clunk on my right rear end that could be something rolling around the trunk, or my imagination.
I curse other drivers, pedestrians, unclear street signs, flashing traffic lights, dangerous curves, tricky intersections, and drivers who clearly have the right of way but sacrifice it to me for no good reason.
I don’t dare talk on cellphones and check my side-view mirrors every five seconds. Acceleration is now a myth for me. Occasionally I’ll get it up to 45 m.p.h. if I’m adventurous, but that’s it. As you can imagine, I avoid highways, taking obscure back roads, tripling my travel time. I hate highways, exits, ramps, tollbooths, double lines, broken lines, and faded lines.
I fear sudden coughing fits, dizziness, and insects flying into my mouth, eyes, and shirt. I’m afraid of my defroster, afraid my heater will shoot something I can’t breathe directly at me.
I don’t dare beep someone for fear they will squeeze me off the road. The few times I ventured onto a highway, I stayed as far to the right as possible, almost on the shoulder. When there is no shoulder, I pray.
This is sad. I never was like this. I used to drive all over the country.
Me and my car and my camera.
Somehow I made it. I know, this is disgusting. My life is circumscribed more and more. Friends discuss exotic vacations. I talk about train and plane fears. Don’t even mention the ferry.
Is this the beginning of the final unraveling? – Joe Del Priore (The author is a frequent Current contributor.)