It's summer, and that means that we feel compelled to get in the car and GO somewhere. Anywhere. Maybe it's because a Canadian winter means that driving is a hazardous and high-strung undertaking that we feel obligated to take to the road when we are able. Something about the possibility of dying of hypothermia makes you think twice about leaving the city in January, you know?
I love a good road trip. And living in Canada means I get lots of opportunity, since this is a big place and our motto should be "The Country Where Everything is Far From Everywhere!" We think very little of driving two hours to go to a concert or a ball game, and I know loads of people who spend a half a day in a car getting to a cottage for a weekend. People in Europe think this is crazy, because they could spend a half a day in a car and see four countries. Once, when two of my cousins and I were driving to Montreal from here, they asked me if I needed someone to read the map and navigate, and I told them it was actually pretty easy: you just got on the highway here, and stayed on it for 8 hours, and then got off in Montreal. They were boggled that it was just one road.
The Loudshoes went to Toronto this weekend, which is only a couple of hours on the road, but judging by the amount of food we brought to sustain us, you'd think we were crossing the Great Plains to claim a homestead. I'm not sure what we thought we might encounter on our trip, but we were armed with ALL kinds of snacks, just in case our blood sugar dipped dangerously low in the 60 minutes between leaving the house and making our first bathroom stop.
AND, as required by law in Canada, we stopped at Tim Hortons before leaving town. Everyone knows that it is impossible to drive anywhere in Canada without a large double-double in hand. (Especially to a hockey arena.) The Mister does not drink coffee, so it's up to me to ingest all the caffeine necessary to maintain our citizenship.
The People In Charge Of Rest Stops Along The Highway have improved their game immeasurably in the past few years. When I was a kid, the food available along the 401 was incredibly awful; soggy french fries, flimsy hamburgers and a lot of greasy, beige stuff that looked like it used to be edible. Then, they sold all the franchises to McDonalds, and if it still wasn't all that great, at least it was predictable. Now they've got a couple of restaurants at each location, which give you a bit of variety, at least, and a fighting chance at getting a salad or a sandwich with ingredients that you can identify. And every one has a Tim Hortons. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.
The People In Charge of Rest Stops Along The Highway should be commended for their Department of Bathroom Enrichment, because they have done a bang-up job. I'm pretty sure that department is staffed entirely by women, because they clearly knew what they were doing. The bathrooms are big, and clean and there are 157 toilets at every one. So many toilets. Nary a line up.With bales of toilet paper at each one. And the sinks! There's dozens of them, with loads of dry counter space to put your purse while you wash your hands in the adequately sized basin that does not splash water all over your shirt. My one, small, tiny little grievance is that they have these industrial hand driers that blow air so hard that you have to work to maintain your balance and they are LOUD. Like, you should probably be wearing ear protection, loud. And when two or three women are drying their hands at the same time, it's like being in a gymnasium with a jet engine. I'm not sure why they felt the need to install hand driers that could wake the dead, but I'm so happy with the rest of the Department of Bathroom Enrichment's work that I will give them a pass.
We drove to Toronto, went to a ball game, and the next day, did a bit of shopping, and then came home. We were gone for a little over 24 hours, and only 4 or 5 of those were actually spent in the car, but we managed to generate a small mountain of garbage. The van was a slovenly toxic waste dump on wheels by the time we pulled into our driveway. I guess all that snacking means that there's going to be some litter, but I'm not sure how we managed to create that metric shit-ton in such a short time. The Bottled Water Graveyard in the very back is going to take some time to excavate.
Coming home is always nice; one's own bed is delightful, and the cat was very happy to see us. Even if I do have to make my own coffee there.
Showing posts with label driving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label driving. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 10, 2016
Monday, May 16, 2011
Drive, She Said
Congratulations are in order; Thing 1 got her driver's licence last week!
Lots of people have asked me how I feel about it, and I reply, in a word, "thrilled". Not only am I no longer the "Driver of Choice" for Thing 2's frantic social life, I have one more person to drive me around when I want to have that second glass of wine. (The Mister is tired of being the "Driver of Choice" for that particular scenario.)
Thing 1 is a very good driver; she's responsible and cautious and entirely trustworthy. In fact, on her driver's test, the one thing she got marked down on was that she drove under the speed limit and she approached every intersection like she expected to be electrocuted at any minute.
I can appreciate her enthusiasm for getting behind the wheel of the car...I remember the feeling myself. The first few weeks of being able to go wherever you want, whenever you want, is heady. Taking the bus is a pain, especially when you don't really know how the bus system works. (A few weeks ago, Thing 1, Thing 2 and Thing 2's friend took the bus downtown to a frozen yogurt place they like near the salon. All went well until they realized, on the bus home, that they were headed the wrong way. It didn't occur to them that in order to go the way you came you have to cross the street and catch the bus there. It would have taken them days to get home, but the Mister took pity on them and told them to get off the bus and he'd pick them up.)
My father has been diagnosed with cataracts recently, and has been told not to drive. He offered us his car while he's waiting for surgery, and so Thing 1 has another car at her disposal. I think she might actually die of joy.
Of course, the downside is that I don't know where my children are at times. I'm used to them being where I left them, for the most part. It's a bit disconcerting to realize that they could have driven over the border, or be gone to Montreal without telling me. I try not to think of that stuff.
Thing 1 even figured out how to fill the car with gas, and pay for it herself. I can totally get behind this.
Lots of people have asked me how I feel about it, and I reply, in a word, "thrilled". Not only am I no longer the "Driver of Choice" for Thing 2's frantic social life, I have one more person to drive me around when I want to have that second glass of wine. (The Mister is tired of being the "Driver of Choice" for that particular scenario.)
Thing 1 is a very good driver; she's responsible and cautious and entirely trustworthy. In fact, on her driver's test, the one thing she got marked down on was that she drove under the speed limit and she approached every intersection like she expected to be electrocuted at any minute.
I can appreciate her enthusiasm for getting behind the wheel of the car...I remember the feeling myself. The first few weeks of being able to go wherever you want, whenever you want, is heady. Taking the bus is a pain, especially when you don't really know how the bus system works. (A few weeks ago, Thing 1, Thing 2 and Thing 2's friend took the bus downtown to a frozen yogurt place they like near the salon. All went well until they realized, on the bus home, that they were headed the wrong way. It didn't occur to them that in order to go the way you came you have to cross the street and catch the bus there. It would have taken them days to get home, but the Mister took pity on them and told them to get off the bus and he'd pick them up.)
My father has been diagnosed with cataracts recently, and has been told not to drive. He offered us his car while he's waiting for surgery, and so Thing 1 has another car at her disposal. I think she might actually die of joy.
Of course, the downside is that I don't know where my children are at times. I'm used to them being where I left them, for the most part. It's a bit disconcerting to realize that they could have driven over the border, or be gone to Montreal without telling me. I try not to think of that stuff.
Thing 1 even figured out how to fill the car with gas, and pay for it herself. I can totally get behind this.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Driving Miss Crazy.
Thing 1 had her first driving lesson this evening! Woo hoo! No one is more excited than me for her to get her driver's licence.....Thing 1 will be Thing 2's unofficial chauffeur when that happens, and I'm dying to give up the title myself.
Thing 1 is taking Driver's Ed, since the insurance savings is significant, and it's probably better that she learn to drive from someone who actually knows how to teach it, not just from your opinionated parents. She had the in-class stuff over the Christmas holidays, which she said was pretty boring. ("Oh, drinking and driving is bad?? You don't say! Please tell me more for another 5 hours!") Now she's doing the in-car stuff with her instructor.
I don't remember much about learning to drive. I didn't take driver's ed, so I just had some willing adults teach me how to drive. My parents were pretty good teachers, as well they should be, since they were both professional teachers at the time. (But teaching someone how to read and teaching someone how to drive are two different things.) My older brother was actually a pretty good teacher, when he was paying attention. (He tended to amuse himself when we were stopped at red lights by yelling pick-up lines at the most unattractive losers standing at bus stops, and then ducking out of sight so they thought it came from me. Good times.) I can't recall under what circumstances this happened, but a good friend of the family's, Paddy, took me out driving one day. Paddy's idea of essential driving wisdom was to point at some other, deficient driver and tell me "you want that whore in front of you, not behind you". (Note: "whore" is pronounced to rhyme with "sewer".) It must have all been good, because I've never had an accident or an infraction. (Except for one speeding ticket. I got it on my birthday when I was 26. The cop even had the balls to wish me "happy birthday" as he handed me my ticket.)
When I was 28 I bought my first car, a Toyota Tercel, which came with a manual transmission. My dad had to take it for the test run, because I'd only driven automatics. It was my brother's instruction that taught me how to drive a standard, and despite my deep misgivings, I did manage to drive that thing eventually. (It would take me ages to get home from work, usually a 15 minute drive, because I went miles out of my way to avoid a hill start. One of the women I worked with lived not too far from me, and when I'd offer her a ride home she'd sigh and give me a weary "sure", and then would call her husband to tell him she'd be late.) The only "payment" my brother wanted for teaching me how to drive a manual transmission was that I had to promise to teach someone else later; I have and extract the same promise from them.
Thing 1 is already a pretty good driver; she's cautious and responsible. She just needs a bit of practice. And I think that if you can learn to drive a minivan in a Canadian winter, you should be able to drive just about anywhere. Thing 2 in the car is a hurdle for another day.
Thing 1 is taking Driver's Ed, since the insurance savings is significant, and it's probably better that she learn to drive from someone who actually knows how to teach it, not just from your opinionated parents. She had the in-class stuff over the Christmas holidays, which she said was pretty boring. ("Oh, drinking and driving is bad?? You don't say! Please tell me more for another 5 hours!") Now she's doing the in-car stuff with her instructor.
I don't remember much about learning to drive. I didn't take driver's ed, so I just had some willing adults teach me how to drive. My parents were pretty good teachers, as well they should be, since they were both professional teachers at the time. (But teaching someone how to read and teaching someone how to drive are two different things.) My older brother was actually a pretty good teacher, when he was paying attention. (He tended to amuse himself when we were stopped at red lights by yelling pick-up lines at the most unattractive losers standing at bus stops, and then ducking out of sight so they thought it came from me. Good times.) I can't recall under what circumstances this happened, but a good friend of the family's, Paddy, took me out driving one day. Paddy's idea of essential driving wisdom was to point at some other, deficient driver and tell me "you want that whore in front of you, not behind you". (Note: "whore" is pronounced to rhyme with "sewer".) It must have all been good, because I've never had an accident or an infraction. (Except for one speeding ticket. I got it on my birthday when I was 26. The cop even had the balls to wish me "happy birthday" as he handed me my ticket.)
When I was 28 I bought my first car, a Toyota Tercel, which came with a manual transmission. My dad had to take it for the test run, because I'd only driven automatics. It was my brother's instruction that taught me how to drive a standard, and despite my deep misgivings, I did manage to drive that thing eventually. (It would take me ages to get home from work, usually a 15 minute drive, because I went miles out of my way to avoid a hill start. One of the women I worked with lived not too far from me, and when I'd offer her a ride home she'd sigh and give me a weary "sure", and then would call her husband to tell him she'd be late.) The only "payment" my brother wanted for teaching me how to drive a manual transmission was that I had to promise to teach someone else later; I have and extract the same promise from them.
Thing 1 is already a pretty good driver; she's cautious and responsible. She just needs a bit of practice. And I think that if you can learn to drive a minivan in a Canadian winter, you should be able to drive just about anywhere. Thing 2 in the car is a hurdle for another day.
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Beginning of an Era
Thing 1 turned 16 a month ago, and has been dying to get her driver's licence ever since. And today she did!
She got her G1 licence, which used to be called a "beginner's" licence in my day, back when the earth was cool and Oprah was poor. She can only drive with a licenced driver who is over 18 in the front seat, not between the hours of midnight and 5 a.m, not on major highways, and without playing "Nickleback" at any time. (Okay, that last one is my rule.)
Like all government-sanctioned activities in Canada, there is a determined and unwavering effort to make sure you do not enjoy yourself one bit while held captive in their offices. There is no where near enough seating, the air conditioner, like the staff, is testy, and the decorator clearly worked in a Soviet-era prison before emigrating to Canada.
After waiting about 40 minutes, it was finally Thing 1's turn. We went up to the counter and Thing 1 answered a couple of questions and did a vision test, and then she had to get her picture taken and sign her licence. Who knew that this would be the toughest part of the day?? She signed her name, but it had to match her passport's exactly. First of all, she signed that thing a year ago, and secondly, a 16 year old doesn't sign her name very often. (She also said she literally hadn't put pen to paper since school let out a month and a half ago!) The very nice man behind the counter let her give it a couple of goes, but honestly, it was very tense by the time she got it right. Then she had to have her picture taken, and she blinked. Twice. By the time we were on the third picture we were both laughing so hard, and I could detect that my darling girl was on the verge of really losing it and sinking into hysteria and possible seizures. Finally, she got a picture that did not make her look like she was sound asleep, a terrorist or under pharmaceutical influence.
After all that, she wrote the test and passed easily. Big smiles all around. (Just for the record, we saw three people who did not pass, one girl by just one wrong answer. I'll bet it was quiet around the dinner table at those houses tonight.)
I can't wait until Thing 1 has her full licence and can take over some of the ferrying and chauffering of her younger sister. And guess who will teach Thing 2 to drive? This is an era I'm going to like.
She got her G1 licence, which used to be called a "beginner's" licence in my day, back when the earth was cool and Oprah was poor. She can only drive with a licenced driver who is over 18 in the front seat, not between the hours of midnight and 5 a.m, not on major highways, and without playing "Nickleback" at any time. (Okay, that last one is my rule.)
Like all government-sanctioned activities in Canada, there is a determined and unwavering effort to make sure you do not enjoy yourself one bit while held captive in their offices. There is no where near enough seating, the air conditioner, like the staff, is testy, and the decorator clearly worked in a Soviet-era prison before emigrating to Canada.
After waiting about 40 minutes, it was finally Thing 1's turn. We went up to the counter and Thing 1 answered a couple of questions and did a vision test, and then she had to get her picture taken and sign her licence. Who knew that this would be the toughest part of the day?? She signed her name, but it had to match her passport's exactly. First of all, she signed that thing a year ago, and secondly, a 16 year old doesn't sign her name very often. (She also said she literally hadn't put pen to paper since school let out a month and a half ago!) The very nice man behind the counter let her give it a couple of goes, but honestly, it was very tense by the time she got it right. Then she had to have her picture taken, and she blinked. Twice. By the time we were on the third picture we were both laughing so hard, and I could detect that my darling girl was on the verge of really losing it and sinking into hysteria and possible seizures. Finally, she got a picture that did not make her look like she was sound asleep, a terrorist or under pharmaceutical influence.
After all that, she wrote the test and passed easily. Big smiles all around. (Just for the record, we saw three people who did not pass, one girl by just one wrong answer. I'll bet it was quiet around the dinner table at those houses tonight.)
I can't wait until Thing 1 has her full licence and can take over some of the ferrying and chauffering of her younger sister. And guess who will teach Thing 2 to drive? This is an era I'm going to like.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Driving Miss Crazy
Dear Lady In The Car Ahead of Me This Morning.
Apparently it is "Drive Very Slowly In Front Of Mrs. Loudshoes" Day today, and I didn't get the memo. Everyone else, it would seem, has gotten it, and has joined into the spirit of the day with a collaborative effort that would be incredibly impressive if it wasn't so damn frustrating. But you? Your effort went way beyond what anyone could have ever expected. Especially me.
You are to be commended for your diligence in following the suggested speed limit. Because it is merely a suggestion, isn't it? No one could be expected to drive at the heady frontier of the speed limit, could they? You drove at a prudent 10 kilometers under the limit all the way along, preventing me from all sorts of incalculable dangers, and also, from getting where I wanted to go.
I have to appreciate your keen and prudent behavior at the four-way stops all along St. George street, of which there are many. Not only did you come to a full and complete stop at every single stop sign, as they no doubt taught you in driver's ed, but you also insured that there was no one else at the stop signs with impressive care. You looked to your right, and then to your left, and then to your right again. And then to the left again, and then to the right again, just in case a transport truck materialized out of nowhere in the nanosecond your head was turned.
There was no running yellow lights for you, no siree. In fact, you balked at running green lights, as well. Just as we came within a hundred feet of a green light, you sagely put your foot firmly on the brakes, just in case the light were to turn any time soon. And if you went slowly enough, they were all bound to turn sooner or later, weren't they?
If you wondered why I didn't pass you at any point, believe me, it was not for lack of trying. However, your habit of driving with your left tire on the middle line, or indeed, a foot into my lane, rendered that idea moot pretty quickly.
I realize that "Driving Slowly In Front Of Mrs. Loudshoes Day" is a treat for everyone, barring myself, so I hope that I get the memo when it's time for "Drive Slowly In Front Of The Annoying Lady" Day. Except, I don't think you would notice when that day came.
Apparently it is "Drive Very Slowly In Front Of Mrs. Loudshoes" Day today, and I didn't get the memo. Everyone else, it would seem, has gotten it, and has joined into the spirit of the day with a collaborative effort that would be incredibly impressive if it wasn't so damn frustrating. But you? Your effort went way beyond what anyone could have ever expected. Especially me.
You are to be commended for your diligence in following the suggested speed limit. Because it is merely a suggestion, isn't it? No one could be expected to drive at the heady frontier of the speed limit, could they? You drove at a prudent 10 kilometers under the limit all the way along, preventing me from all sorts of incalculable dangers, and also, from getting where I wanted to go.
I have to appreciate your keen and prudent behavior at the four-way stops all along St. George street, of which there are many. Not only did you come to a full and complete stop at every single stop sign, as they no doubt taught you in driver's ed, but you also insured that there was no one else at the stop signs with impressive care. You looked to your right, and then to your left, and then to your right again. And then to the left again, and then to the right again, just in case a transport truck materialized out of nowhere in the nanosecond your head was turned.
There was no running yellow lights for you, no siree. In fact, you balked at running green lights, as well. Just as we came within a hundred feet of a green light, you sagely put your foot firmly on the brakes, just in case the light were to turn any time soon. And if you went slowly enough, they were all bound to turn sooner or later, weren't they?
If you wondered why I didn't pass you at any point, believe me, it was not for lack of trying. However, your habit of driving with your left tire on the middle line, or indeed, a foot into my lane, rendered that idea moot pretty quickly.
I realize that "Driving Slowly In Front Of Mrs. Loudshoes Day" is a treat for everyone, barring myself, so I hope that I get the memo when it's time for "Drive Slowly In Front Of The Annoying Lady" Day. Except, I don't think you would notice when that day came.
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