by Debbie L. Miller
Get in the car and drive. Just me and the road. The car is moving my body and my mind goes along for the ride. Nothing matters but steering, shifting gears, the lines in the road, tires on the pavement, the pictures in the mirrors, and the seat against my back. Point the car straight ahead and follow my nose.
Cigarettes taste better. Push in the lighter. It pops. It glows. Eye on the road while I light up. Smell the burning paper. Slide out the ashtray. A cigarette and the open road. One of the true pleasures of driving.
Driving in the rain? I know how. Slow down, be careful. Watch out when it starts to rain, because oil on the pavement mixes with the first few drops and it’s slick. Careful not to oversteer.
I’ve driven in blizzards, thunderstorms, heavy winds, 115-degree blazing sun. Winding mountain roads above the tree line, straight roads on the open plains, narrow one-way gravel roads. I drove Route 66, the Mother Road. Memorized all the Burma Shave signs.
I’ve sat on the side of the road in the Great Plains and witnessed a thunderstorm. The sky navy blue purple, lightening shooting from the top of the sky to the horizon and thunder echoing for miles.
The odometer turned over from 99,999.9 to 100,000 as I sang “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” until my voice was…
