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and not having to stop at all. It took so long to plan a trip that I probably could have reached my destination faster by walking.


So as we planned this trip I agreed to drive only on the highways and if we went through any towns he had to take over immediately so I didn’t have to worry about stalling at every intersection.


He agreed.


I knew how to drive when I met the guy-in-the-garage, I even had my driver’s license to prove it, but just barely. We married as teenagers and


D


shortly after, he decided I needed to learn how to drive a stick shift. I don’t recall him asking my opinion. At the time I hadn’t been taught to ride a motorcycle yet either (that’s another story), so the concept of clutches and gas pedals and gear shift levers was all rather foreign.


Over the years I discovered an interesting pattern of speech that occurred.


Shortly after I would hear the words “Do you want to drive?” the next phrase to leave his mouth was usually something along the lines of “Well, don’t kill us while you’re doing it!” Getting back to the stick-shift lessons, shortly after they began we planned a cross-country trip to visit grandparents.


He insisted I needed to help drive. Which I wouldn’t have minded, except that we were taking the truck that he was in the process of teaching me to drive.


Let me explain my level of


confidence in driving that truck. I had actually driven it alone a few times after he taught me. Unfortunately it took many extra miles to get to each of my destinations because I would carefully plan my trip so that I did not have to stop on any hills, or even gradual slopes. I made sure I had as few intersections to go through, and preferred ones with stop lights rather than stop signs because at least I had a 50/50 chance of hitting the light green


o you want to drive?” I cringe when I hear those words.


But I didn’t realize he


was only agreeing to get me to shut up. Things were going well. He seemed to be keeping to the agreement until we hit Gallup, New Mexico.


This was in the 1970s and the highway went right through town. A town that had a red light at every block for about a thousand blocks. These lights weren’t timed so you could hit them all green either. They were timed so you would hit them all red.


As soon as we got into town I prepared to find a place to stop so he could start driving. “You’re doing fine,” he said. Which translated means keep driving because he isn’t going to keep his agreement. If I didn’t know how to work a clutch smoothly before I entered the town, I had about a thousand opportunities to practice before we got out of there. A few years later we went motorcycle racing in Colorado, with another trip to visit grandparents in Kansas planned for afterwards. By then, I was pretty efficient with the clutch and that wasn’t the problem. The driving problem this time was that at the motorcycle race he broke several bones and was in no condition to help with the driving. He was determined to get to Grandma’s house as soon as possible.


I drove and drove all night long. Whenever I suggested pulling over to rest, he would wake up out of his pain medicated daze and say “You’re doing fine,” which translates “keep driving.” Thankfully we arrived safely and he was able to heal enough while we were there that he didn’t have to tell me how fine I was doing all the way back to California. Instead he was able to do much of the driving.


I discovered the real meaning to his comments as years went by. “You’re


6 S&S OFF ROAD MAGAZINE - AUGUST 2011 - www.SS-OffRoadMagazine.com


doing fine,” really wasn’t a way for him to express confidence in my driving. It was what he said when he was too tired to drive.


However exhausted he was though, he usually mustered up the strength to give me driving tips. You might call them friendly pointers. Although at times they really didn’t seem so friendly. For instance, once after another bout of motorcycle riding injuries, he was going stir crazy at home during the recuperation and asked me to drive him somewhere. He wasn’t in the best of moods, and was grumbling and complaining about not being able to do anything. We were sitting at an intersection, the first one at the red light with a long line of cars behind us. Just before the light turned green, he was griping because he wasn’t even able to drive. He had me so flustered by then, that I popped the clutch without giving it enough gas and his reassuring comment as I attempted to restart the truck with horns honking was “And apparently you can’t drive either!” We scrapped the “fun outing” and


headed home.


Over the years I’ve driven him crazy when I’m behind the wheel of various vehicles from small trucks to large motorhomes. But finally, something happened that brought it all to a halt. We were heading down Banner Grade about six months ago on our way to our desert home. I was driving through all the winding roads with huge motorhomes and trailers coming at us in the opposite direction and finally he said, in a somewhat exasperated voice: “You SCARE me driving on these roads!”


I couldn’t respond because I was too busy concentrating and trying to stay on my side of the road.


It was silent for a minute or two and then he asked “Do you scare yourself too?”


“Actually, yes I do,” I managed to admit.


He had me pull over at the very next turn-out and he hardly ever asks me to drive for him anymore.





Restoration of Japanese Vintage


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Flat Trackers 1960’s through 1980’s - Steve Kukla S&S Publishing, Inc. 760-767-4680


VOLUME 29, NO. 11 • AUGUST 2011 PUBLISHER


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