So maybe I had a different start to the driving world than most. The first time I "took the wheel" was at age six, sitting on Pop's lap in our '48 Ford. Today, if a father was caught with his young son sitting between him and the steering wheel in a moving car, he'd be thrown in jail! But back in the olden days, we hadn't yet realized everyone should be buckled in. In fact, I often rode in the car standing up behind the front seat. The only hard and fast rule, "Don't ever touch the back door handles!" Pop was paranoid about those doors, which were hinged at the back. If a child opened one of those doors while the car was moving at speed, the air rushing past the car would violently rip the door wide open. Before said child could release their grip on the door handle they would likely be flung out of the car! They weren't called "Suicide Doors" for nothing! But I digress, this post is about learning to drive.
Phase Two
When my friend Ron was twelve years old, his mom had a nice little Volkswagen beetle. When he knew his mom was going to be out for the afternoon and didn't take her car, he'd grab the VW's keys and four thick volumes of their encyclopedia. With two books on each seat we'd start up the car and back it down the driveway to the back lane. The first few outings were just back and forth in the lane. But it wasn't long before Ron felt the need to explore further. It's amazing how far two young boys in a Beetle can go staying mostly in back lanes. I never drove that car, but I was, as they say, taking detailed notes of how the clutch, gearshift and gas pedal all worked. The last outing in the Beetle found us miles away, no longer restricted to back lanes. Fortunately we got the wits scared out of us when a police car followed us for a while. The Beetle got home that day with no incidents, and we considered ourselves lucky not to have gotten caught.
Phase Three
It was an old 1941 Ford panel truck that was used at the greenhouse and nursery business my friend Don's family operated. The truck wasn't licensed, so it was used only on site to haul plants and dirt. Don and I were fourteen and were allowed to use the truck in our "work" at the nursery. For example if someone bought a shrub or an ornamental tree, off in the truck we'd go with shovels and a burlap sack. We'd dig up the plant, pack its roots in burlap and bring it back to the front of the greenhouse. Then we'd have to patrol the whole site in the truck, just to make sure everything was OK. I got to take many turns at the wheel and got quite proficient with the clutch and shifting gears. We were allowed to take the truck across the street into the orchard, supposedly to deliver ladders and other equipment for the orchard workers.
This arrangement held steadfast for a good part of the summer of my 14th year. But as time went on, the speed we drove steadily increased. Alas, one day the truck somehow ended up on its side in the orchard. No one was hurt, but sadly the truck was soon to the junkyard. To our dismay, it was replaced by two shiny new wheelbarrows.
On a trip to Oregon last year, I happened to see an old Ford very similar to that greenhouse truck from years ago. I stopped and took a few pictures of it, which I later worked into a digital painting I titled "Rust In Peace." I gave Don a print, and which I'm pleased to see hanging in his home. At the end of this post is a copy of it for your amusement.
When I finally turned sixteen and got my Learner's License, Pop offered to teach me to drive. We had just one outing, after which he said, "I don't know how, but you drive as good as anyone on the road, go take the damn Driving Test!" If only he knew...
That was a good read.
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