I vividly recall going to Disneyland as a young teenager and being emotionally thrashed on the Matterhorn bobsled ride. Other kids were howling with delight at the sharp turns and steep drops while I was mentally repeating the phrases “Please be over soon” and “I don’t want to die.”
In high school, I thoroughly enjoyed driver’s education class because of the no-need-to-hurry approach the instructors emphasized. The day my ride-along teacher said, “OK, I think we’re ready for the expressway ” wasn’t an occasion for any internal celebration.
Do not, however, assume I spend most of my road time cowering behind the steering wheel. Freeway fright is not my copilot. After 45-plus years on the road, I can handle a vast range of traffic tribulations. I’ve had my share of white knuckles and sweaty palms but not one accident since a fender bender in college. I go with the flow, and if the flow is doing 65 or 70 m.p.h. in bumper-to-bumper formation, well, as Tim Gunn likes to say on Project Runway, “Make it work!”
But in solitary situations, alone on some suburban boulevard or country lane, I like to ease off the gas pedal, settle in at a steady 35 m.p.h., and achieve an authentic state of cruising nirvana.
It’s a speed that allows me to appreciate my surroundings because the scenery doesn’t flash by in a blur. There’s also a significant safety factor because slowing down means I have more time to react and avoid potholes, bouncing balls, bull elk, or other hazards that may appear unexpectedly.
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