Did I mention that I didn't get a drivers' license until I was forty-five years old? Over the years, I failed the driving test eight times. The ninth, I almost failed. First thing out of the bag, I had to parallel park, and I knocked over both pylons. I was just so very nervous, you know? I had to swear to never attempt to parallel park in Williamson County, for the rest of my natural life.
It took me at least two years to actually get on the freeway, and I did so with total awareness of imminent death. In 2003, I drove the Miata four thousand miles, barreling along in the wake of the motor home. Jim drove like a bat out of hell, no matter what he was driving. I had to keep up. When we got back from that trip, I had mostly got over being afraid of being on the road. And I was no longer afraid of speed. I had blown past big trucks at over ninety.
Last summer, I took off again, with Brendan, this time, and drove to Philadelphia. We drove almost the entire Blue Ridge Parkway, and one full day, up there in the pouring rain.
I frequently head out in the morning on a day off, and just drive.
In all the time I've been doing this, I have never driven on a road with an eighty mile an hour speed limit. Dearly Beloved, I'm here to tell you that I 10 out west of the Pecos, is way too much fun to drive in a Miata! I had to learn to keep an eye on the speedometer, because it crept up almost to 110!