Tuesday, February 18, 2014

I'm a good driver

I am a competent driver.  Most days. Yesterday I picked up my granddaughter, Rian, for a quick lunch and a movie and drove straight to her dorm, at the University of Utah, which heretofore has been a complete mystery to me as far as location goes.  It's up there in Olympic village, which simply didn't exist when I went to university.

As soon as Rian got into the car I began driving like a brainless lump, over curbs, wrong directions and and into dead ends.  When we arrived at Cafe Rio, I left the car in Drive so that it rolled when we opened our doors.  Entering the parking lot at the Broadway Theater, I drove into the exit instead of the entrance.  I've never done that before.

Is this the aging me, driving?  Is Rian going to report to her father that I drive like a ninny, so he will find it necessary to remove the carburetor from my car to keep me safe?

One other observation about driving in the city where I grew up, I don't care about the fastest route, I take routes that spiritually connect me to my childhood.  I drive up 8th and 9th south a lot, and I love 9th east and 13th east.  I like South Temple and 7th south.  Sometimes, for the hell of it, I drive through Brixen Court or Lowell Avenue and Lincoln Street.  Sometimes I drive down the alley behind the house where I grew up.  And I still like to drive up Emigration Canyon and come down Parley's just like I did when I was sixteen.


  1. Some concerned sons removed the propeller off their father's plane when he turned 90. He was outraged so he went out and bought a smart cart.

    Maybe this isn't a sign of your aging but a sign of an engaging conversation and driving was tertiary.

  2. I'm a good driver.... 4 minutes to Wapner...3 minutes to Wapner... 1 minute to Wapner, oh dear.

  3. It's time to quit driving before you kill somebody, truly. This is not cute or endearing, it's a sign that you're past it.