Riding in cars with boys.

Riding in cars and trucks with boys.   

Alright, I rode on some motorcycles too. They have wheels and I should not discriminate.  

I did not have my own car as a teen.  I lived in a small town, the kind where usually everyone knows what you had been up to and who with often times before you even get home and your parents have already heard. Don't worry, there's no tea being spilled here.  

The first time I drove a friend's royal blue truck with a manual transmission was during a summer evening on the back streets of a one stop light town.  Older vehicles are more forgiving to teenage girls with big feet trying to time a clutch and a gas pedal.  Back when a gas pedal was truly attached to a cable which was attached to a throttle.  He was brave and so kind.  

I had the joy of riding in another friend’s red sporty number with a bumper sticker which read, “WARNING in case of rapture this car will be unmanned”.  You can read that again if you need to.  It really said that.  You might be thinking to yourself, “oh come on, you really don’t even know what kind of car it was?”  Truth.  It was red, it was fun, it was a late 80’s model.  Probably not American made.  

A land yacht of the Cadillac royalty belonged to a dear friend of mine. I teased him mercilessly regarding the auto yacht status.  The front bench seat likely had more seating than my current SUV.  I might be spinning a yarn, but the seat was extra on the long. No other car I have ridden in has had a suspension system with as quality of a ride as that. Hands down.  Model, year – I dunno.  

Small towns continued cruising long after the popular time of cruising.  I have a constant ringing in my ears to this day from the subwoofers in two low rider trucks I rode in. Two different guys I dated during my high school years each drove low rider pickup trucks.  Each had older model trucks that they had lowered and painted and equipped with da bass.  “We like the cars, the cars that go BOOM!”   

Another guy I dated drove a 1969 Ford Mustang. There, I can remember one.  I do remember because I was told over and over again that information. The car was very important, and he had worked very hard to become the owner of such a classic ride.  Unfortunately, one time while trying to close the severely heavy passenger door, I made it thud too loud.  That was when I learned that was akin to slamming a door, which isn’t allowed for classic cars, that people had to work very hard to save enough money to own.   

After the collapse of the iron curtain in the USSR, I traveled there as a science exchange student. I learned everything I know about fundraising, public speaking, public relations and disciplined finances from my mom who helped me wash cars and find sponsors for this trip.  As a student of archaeology near the Ural Mountains, I lived a spy like moment on the back of a motorcycle blazing down trails with no helmet and no proper foot pegs. I have a slight burn scar from this event. On an unknown street to me in Magnitogorsk I survived the most terrifying car ride of my life while a Russian taxicab driver fought like mad against time itself as he barreled through lights, signs, intersections and any car to challenge his lane or perceived lane.   

Daytona Beach, Florida.  My roommate’s boyfriend had a super nice motorcycle.  It no doubt cost more than my mom and my stepfather’s vehicles combined.  It went silly fast.  In a fleeting moment of lost adherence to sound mindedness, I hoped on the back.  Lights became streams; beams the way science fiction movies reveal hyperspace jumps.  If you are reading this mom, “I’m sorry.”  

Maserati.  The first vehicle of absolute luxury I have ever ridden in. The ground clearance was such that you almost had to lay down and creep in.  My friend undoubtedly was far superior in his driving experience than I, though we were the same age. I had no idea a car could handle the way this car glided while reaching “mach speed”.  The leather. The dials.  Oh, and the speed.   

The back-roads in Ohio. Many trees, lots of curves, no posted speed limits. We met in the third grade, when I beat up boys at recess.  I think he liked me.  I moved. We got back in touch through my step-sibling during our junior high years and met up when I was in high school visiting family during a summer.  He had a Ford Mustang. We went cruising. He let me drive out into the country.  Thrilling.  

My ex-husband introduced me to Subaru.  I am eternally grateful.  He bravely let me drive his hatchback and then his first Legacy Wagon. It is super sad that on a dark and stormy night, before the advent of GPS and cellphones, when I had overstayed at a baby shower and was late picking him up from work that I got into my first accident and totaled his Greenaru.  Turns out I never picked him up and I earned a ride to his parent’s house in the front seat of a police car.  Exactly the way one wishes to arrive at their soon-to-be in-law's home.  We later owned a Bluebaru Outback Wagon, also a Whitearu Forester which met its demise in a highway rear ending accident that makes me still nervous when I look into the rear-view mirror when traffic slows down.  Then came the Blackaru 2014 Forester, the first time we had ever owned a brand-new car. These Subarus brought us much joy and carried us many miles to family and fun.  

My sons have a Volkswagen Rabbit and a Subaru Forester respectively.  I have the privilege of being a passenger princess on each of these rides.  My sons have assured me that my own Forester handles way beyond what I know it can handle.  I have learned to acknowledge that handle that is just above your shoulder. It has a funny little name... 

2020 718 Cayman and 1975 Carrera Porsche delight with mid engine and rear flat sixes that sing and sing and sing!  A generous friend who also helped my family get a new furnace one winter brought me much joy with my first ever ride in my favorite marquee.   With medieval Knight bravery he let me drive his ‘75. I’ll never be the same.  Driving with that much feedback is intoxicating.   

A Hyundai rental car, a Porsche GTS 4 Weissach, and a 1975 Porsche Carrera have been outrageously delightful in laps around Laguna Seca with drivers of impeccable skills.  Going into turn two in the Hyundai made me second guess that life choice, each time we went round.  Giggling like a schoolgirl in the Weissach and swallowing my stomach in the Carrera dropping into turn 8.   

1981 Porsche S through a short canyon drive in a more southerly coastal California locale had afforded me by my hiking friend’s husband, who turns out to be a great Bible study leader and Uncle like great guy.  He is also a brave soul who let me drive three out of five speeds.   

The future lays before me.  Someday, someone will be writing their own story but with a different twist.  It will include that time a middle-aged woman who finally bought and fixed up her own Porsche let them shift three out of five gears.  Unless it is one or both of my sons and then I will find out what that red line is all about I suppose.