________
Call it age, call it my own surly brand of nonconformity, call it what you will, but I'm getting to where I just don't care about driving long distances anymore.
Given the ever-increasing volume of traffic in our congested city, I can get a little uptight just driving across town. At times, a trip to the grocery store can seem like a road trip to hell.
Of course there's the usual mindless maniacs who reinforce these notions. You know, like people who are paying more attention to their cell phones than to the middle of the road down which they are driving.
Then there's your average tailgater who's just an accident waiting to happen -- and I hope it doesn't involve my tail gate. I don't need that kind of tailgate party.
How about the motorist who sees fit to haphazardly toss a burning cigarette out the window and into the street -- where it rolls under my vehicle! (Hey! I drive junk! I could have a gasoline leak, you know!)
And let's not leave out the knuckleheads who've decided that stop lights are not meant for them.
These are just a few examples. It's not that we've never had drivers like these before out there on our roads. It's just that there's now so many of them. They have multiplied like rabbits and there's just not enough blacktop to accommodate their species.
I have to admit, though, that my wife apparently doesn't consider me to be the greatest driver on the road, either. I noticed she's put a bumper sticker on my car that says, "How's my driving? If you don't feel I'm driving in a safe manner, then please call my wife and she'll come and get me." She has her own 800 number for just such an emergency.
It also doesn't help that I can't see as well as I used to. Oh, I can pass the DMV's eye examination with flying colors. But then, so could Stevie Wonder.
Driving at night is particularly bothersome. So I avoid it as much as I can.
Thirty years ago, there was just nothing like driving at night. If I was heading out on a trip, I'd opt for taking off in the early evening and driving throughout most of the night time hours. It was relaxing.
Not these days, my friends. If I can help it, the car is going into the garage at sundown and staying put until dawn.
Now when I retire, I'd really like to do some traveling around this great country of ours. I just don't know if I'll be up to driving at all by then.
The Greyhound Bus company used to advertise with this slogan: Take the bus and leave the driving to us.
That sounds tempting. But I've just never liked buses. You always end up surrounded by the same assortment of characters on a bus: a screaming child, a wino who's wet his pants or a half-crazy person who mumbles incoherently and thinks he sees bats.
In the movies, the bus' passenger list always included a playful little boy in a cowboy hat, a subdued hippie with a guitar, two nuns and a Marine. They were always harmless.
I've never ridden on that bus.
Former NFL coach and retired football broadcaster John Madden prefers the bus. He hates to fly.
But John Madden OWNS his bus. And it's like a small ranch-style house on wheels. He probably keeps two nuns and a Marine on retainer just to ride along.
And John Madden doesn't have to drive the bus. He pays someone to do that. And it's not Stevie Wonder.
I've always had a fascination with the Open Road. But I guess I should have pursued my journeys long ago, when I was younger and the highways and the byways were safer. And the Road was much more Open.
Charles Kuralt was one of my journalistic heroes. Or maybe I just envied him.
Kuralt drove around in a motor home (I'm sure it was at the expense of the CBS television network) and filed heartwarming little stories from towns all over the nation, some that weren't even a dot on a map.
But while putting in all that windshield time, he saw the country and met its people and that was called work. Nice work if you can get it.
Now that Charles Kuralt is gone, maybe there's a lane open somewhere out there on the road for a wandering writer, one who wants to see every corner of his native land and meet interesting people and file heartwarming stories.
I'm ready to go. All I need now to fulfill my dream is a motor home, a map (forget the GPS--I'm old-fashioned) and a laptop computer.
Oh, and a driver. Anybody know what Stevie Wonder is doing these days?
Copyright 2011 by Wendel Potter
________
