We all start life caged. Tied down by the whims and statutes of our parents. Moored to their will by our inability to get ourselves to birthday parties, our friend's house, and our favorite fast food restaurant. As a young child this is an inconvenience to be sure, but it is expected. It is the way things are, and there isn't anything you can do about it. It doesn't even occur to you to think of doing something about it. We are content to be shuttled to our experiences, the only things we asked were "Where are we going?" "Why?" and "When are we going to get there?"
However, as we grow older we begin to feel those bands of captivity closing in around us. We begin to dream of going out on our own, and doing whatever we darn well please. To quell this rebellion, this foolhardy bravado, a child's parents will wisely introduce the concept of freedom, slowly, through a vehicle like a bike, or a Power Wheels. It was this desire for escape that fueled my own dreams of Powerwheeling around like the grand master of my own tiny domain. I never did get to experience that feeling of the light breeze tousling my hair or that of the lawn under my hard plastic tires, but I did have a bike growing up. I can only remember a couple details about learning to ride a bike. I can see the street, and my dad, a faint hint of a bike, terror, and pine bark nuggets. That's it. The memory of pine bark nuggets has for some reason has been vividly etched into my brain. My very first memory of driving myself is pine bark nuggets.
I recall another experience where freedom and vehicular transport collided. I was probably 10 years old, give or take a year. I was excited because we had a stranger in the house fixing our cable and I was interested in watching him work, after all TV was about the coolest thing ever, and this guy could fix it. He had to know some kind of secret magic, and if I could learn it then, obviously, I could watch whatever I wanted. So I watched him work, I didn't want to miss this opportunity, not for anything. That's when it happened my mother asked me to take the trash out. I begged and pleaded her to not make me do it, I just wanted to watch. I'd get it afterwards I promised. This was apparently very important trash, because it couldn't wait. It had to take it out now, however, this was the final straw, the coup de grace to my compliance. In hindsight, the chore was most likely an effort to save my life from the poor cable guy ready to throttle his newly acquired understudy. However, at the time, I was not able to comprehend this. All I understood was that I had lost my opportunity to learn the secrets of the Television. Begrudgingly, I performed the task I had been asked to do, but not before collecting my life savings. I think it was 50 dollars, more then enough to live off of for years, or so I thought. I grabbed my bike and I rode. That bike was my weapon against the man, or woman in this case, I was a rebel. I had the power to go anywhere I didn't have to do what they said anymore. I didn't know where I was going. I had no plans. I just knew I was free. I would show my parents. I would teach them a lesson. I had everything I needed. I don't know exactly how far I went that day in terms of distance it felt far. I stopped at a McDonald's and bought myself lunch. I didn't have to ask if we could go I just went. I then decided I wanted to go to my friends house. It wasn't much further, and why not? I could do what I wanted I was my own man now. When I got there my friend's mother was a little shocked to say the least it wasn't a short distance and the roads I went along were probably not entirely safe for a 10 year old on a huffy. She called my parents and ended my bout of self proclaimed autocracy.
For a while this pandering suffices. A child feels that they are free, and in their own narrow understanding of the world they can get away from it all. Their dreams of liberty can be realized. Nevertheless, time marches on, and the little tikes become teenagers filled with even more angst and delusions of grandeur. Their world grows and the bike just doesn't cut it anymore, they want the real deal, the whole enchilada, the best age milestone life has to offer, the great emancipation, the ability to drive. I was no different. I had waited for this moment. For the ability to be free, to be able to go and do without having somebody else take me there. The wait had seemed to take forever. By George, it did take forever, my entire lifetime to be exact. I passed the test, and got my license without much difficulty. My father had recently bought himself a little used 84' Mazda 626 coup, and he decided to make me a deal. If I was willing to pay $800 at $100 a month then I could have it. This seemed like a good deal to me, no actually it was a good deal, I was 16, I had a driver's license and a little red car what more could I ask for? Turns out I should have asked how to avoid telephone poles.
I don't remember exactly how long I had that little red Mazda two months maybe three. I know for a fact in that time I wore the tread off both front tires, exacting untold damage to the clutch mechanism, and only paid one hundred of the promised eight hundred dollars. I was heading to school early one morning traveling the short cut, a winding back woods country road. I was puttering along near the center of the very narrow street at a solid 65 possibly 70 miles per hour, this is because I, like all other sixteen year old drivers, was mentally challenged. I was cresting a not so small hill when I noticed a maroon Lincoln rising from the other side of the same, not so small, hill at a similar speeds. I swerved hard to the right and stood on the brakes. The car careened off the road into a shallow ditch avoiding the most definitely fatal head on collision. I pulled back to the left trying to get back on the road the car was not in the mood to listen to what I was telling it to do and barreled off the far left side of the road. I pull back the other direction aiming once again for the safety and security of the road, but having nothing more then the most broad degree of control the car weaved back toward the ditch on the right side of the road. As if in slow motion I saw the telephone pole advancing toward me. I pulled to the left again trying to avoid the creosote beast looming over me. I failed, and collided into the pole on my front passenger fender, window glass exploded out as the car continued grinding along the pole past the passenger door, and then finally, I stopped. The car was resting with the telephone pole very near the back passenger tire. My first thought was for my own safety. I looked down and to my relief I was not hurt or damaged in any way. I was completely unscathed. I brushed shattered glass out of my hair and got out of the car. I stepped away from the wreckage and that is when the next thought hit me. Relief vanished and in it's place a wave of nausea and horror washed over me. I was going to have to call my parents. My parents were both glad I was alive and well, they are after all human. I never did pay the rest of that eight hundred dollars I owed for that car, but I learned a valuable lesson that day that has stuck with me since. It is that, telephone poles are the natural enemy of cars and it is not only wise, but highly recommended to keep the two as far apart as possible while moving at high speeds.
My poor Mazda had the same general shape as a banana when the telephone pole got through with it that day. The car never recovered, you see nobody could/would front the bill to have it fixed. I still get choked up a bit when thinking about it. Even though through the years that followed I have matured as a person, gained experience behind the wheel of various vehicles, and haven't had another accident of that magnitude I do not like driving, and I am still not even very good at it. In fact I know people who would say I'm downright lousy at driving. I have enough proficiency to accomplish the goal that brought me and driving together. I can get from point A to point B without having to ask somebody to take me there. Most of the time.
