As it happens, I do not know how to drive a car and I don’t plan on learning how, at least not any time soon. A friend of mine, and an occasional reader of TAS, noted that his in-laws strongly encouraged to learn how to drive a car when his wife became pregnant, and I suppose that is one scenario in which I might be willing to buckle under. Or if I were subject to any “enhanced interrogation techniques.” I’d fold fast. But I feel as though I’ve done pretty well without driving so far.
Well, there is one thing. One hates to be a layabout on a road trip. I’ve been chauffeured by women more often than I’d care to admit, and there is something, let’s be frank, a little unmasculine about this. That said, there is also something unmasculine about belting out female solos from power pop hits and that hasn’t stopped me yet. And it won’t ever!
I have a few semi-lengthy domestic trips planned for the spring and summer, most of them in auto-dependent regions. Rest assured, I will spend many hours trudging around under the beating sun, hopefully with a protein bar and camelpak to keep me alive. Or I’ll get run over by someone’s “light truck.”