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.