On Driving While Young

When you are young, say fifteen or so, there is little that you don’t already know. You also can do just about anything. I was already seventeen when I thought I could ride a horse, for example. I just needed some practice. There was a riding school a block away. The instructor must have known I could not tell a horse from a mule, let alone tell either of them what to do. He assigned me to a slow old mare. Then we started off, all around the arena. All but my horse. Smart horse: I was still fishing for the stirrups and would have slid off the saddle, had she moved. The instructor came over, cursed the horse and smacked her. The horse reacted by starting off in a gallop, me holding on to saddle and mane. I do not remember how we eventually came to a stop. All I can say with assurance is that riding a horse came off my can-already-do  list that afternoon. I forfeited the rest of the lessons.

But then, who needs to ride a horse, anyway. The way one got around in the twentieth century was by automobile. That, certainly, was within my capabilities. After all, I had once ridden a small two-cycle moped for about 200 yards on an empty stretch of rural highway. So when the American army officer parked his souvenir German army VW in the patch of woods next to where we were then billeted temptation bit me. The keys were in, nobody was home. Let’s see if we can move that thing! Ah, the adrenalin. I knew nothing about gears and how to shift. Which turned out to be embarrassing because the moment I turned the key “the thing” jerked forward. There was nothing in the way to stop it except a small tree. The tree performed flawlessly and the engine died. Amazingly enough there was no serious damage. I pushed the car back to where it had been and slid away.

Yet the dream never left me. One day, I just knew, I would have a car and I would of course know how to drive. I was in my early twenties when I bought my first car, a used British Triumph two-door. I had no driver’s license but I was smart, so who needs lessons?  I thought it best to practice after dark when our residential neighborhood was quiet. I remember one night in particular. It was snowing. I did my best to steer in a straight line. As I came around the block on my second lap I could still see the impressions of my previous turn in the snow. It looked more like zig zag than straight line and my knees were shaking. I turned left, which was a mistake because it led me into a cul-de-sac. I had no idea how to back out of the situation and there were people, watching.

Eventually, however, I had to take the driver’s test. To do this I had to arrive at the motor vehicle office in the company of a licensed adult. I did not know anybody in Toronto. Someone advised me to hire an instructor for an hour who would accompany me there. I did that and he taught me a few important last minute details, such as parallel parking on a hillside, using clutch control. How glad I was because that is exactly what I had never thought of and what the examiner had me do. I passed with flying colors. Too bad cars do not have clutch pedals any more. I would be glad to demonstrate.

Then came the days of love and roses.   We were newlyweds and we were young and foolish, or at least I was. Consequently I behaved flashily like, for example, driving along  with a cigarette nonchalantly dangling from my lips. I found out, however, that this blasé gesture was not worth the cost. You have no idea how hot a burning cigarette is when you accidentally drop it between your legs while you are navigating your car during rush hour at the intersection of Bloor and Yonge in downtown Toronto!

(c)2018 by Herbert H. Hoffman. Picture Credit: hottopics.ht

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