When my long-suffering father was teaching me how to drive, we spent a lot of time crying (me) and sighing (him).
It was a time of great angst and disappointment. My parents had a rule that I wasn't allowed to write my test until I learned how to comfortably drive a standard because only knowing how to drive an automatic was like only knowing how to read half a book.
By comfortable, they meant I had to be able to come to a full-stop on a steep hill and then go again without rolling backwards and hitting a car behind me.We practiced on the hill coming out of the parking lot at what was then Overwaitea on the Hart. Sometimes, I managed to do it.
Most of the time, I stalled the truck.
One memorable time, I came to a stop at an intersection in my quiet neighbourhood right across the street from my aunt's house where, as I discovered, she was having a small party in her yard with a few friends on a hot summer's day. I stalled the truck. I tried the "see-saw" technique.
Stalled. I tried lifting my foot off the clutch and the truck lurched and then stalled.Four or five more attempts later, with increasing levels of anxiety and utter embarrassment, I eventually popped the clutch and floored it to the cheering crowd.
It was mortifying. However, I learned how to comfortably drive a standard and I am pleased to say that I still drive a standard transmission and I hardly ever stall in intersections anymore.
I was reminded of this as I passed the scene of an accident last week that was clearly the result of the driver driving too fast, in poor conditions.A massive rain and hailstorm had blasted the Hart Highway when I was at a friend's house and on my drive home with my kiddies safely buckled into their medieval torture devices, I mean car seats, the streets were still slippery.I passed a lone biker (peddle, not motor) dressed in the classic "safety yellow" rain slicker and I made sure to give him enough room on the highway.
That meant I had to shoulder-check and merge ever so carefully into the left-hand lane. This is because we, in this fine city, say, "Screw you cyclists, no bike lanes for you!"
As a part of my learning-to-drive education, my dad made sure to remind me about cyclists because he was one of them.At the age of sixteen, I was more afraid of oncoming traffic than hitting the ditch so I had a tendency to hug the inside lane. When I did, my dad would sigh and gently say, "You just killed me on my bike." At which point, I would jerk the wheel over towards the other side of the road like a drunk person wobbling down a street after a particularly intense pub crawl.
Teaching me how to drive was a lesson in patience for my father but the lessons he taught me about driving have remained:No. 1: Don't look into the lights on oncoming cars at night, look past them; No. 2: Watch out for cyclists and try not to kill them; No. 3: Don't be in a hurry and; No. 4: Don't hog the left-hand lane because it's ignorant.
The implied lesson I also learned from my dad was that the out-of-gas warning light was a suggestion more than an instruction and that in order to maximize your vehicular travelling, you should really see how far you can get on an empty tank of gas.I am pleased to report that I have taken the final suggestion as gospel and that every time my husband drives the van he has to fill the tank.Gas is expensive and it annoys me every time I have to buy it (at the last possible moment).
During these times of changeable weather, I will remind you all to not be in a hurry, don't hog the left-hand lane and try not to kill the cyclists (or bikers).I would also request to the City of Prince George that in order to avoid a horrific cycling catastrophe, we really need to look at creating some safe bike lanes.
Meanwhile, I will continue to see how may days I can drive around town on an empty tank of gas.
I haven't run out yet.
