Which is to say that driving is pure torture for me. When driving, you know you’re missing out on some great Snapchats and text messages, and unable to really zone in on your jams or whatever’s on the radio because you don’t want to be subject to a bloodbath. It requires too much of me to focus unerringly so that I don’t die or kill someone else. You can keep your interstates and parking meters. They had nicknames, lost mirrors in bank drive-thru lanes, played Local H and Suicide Machines tapes, stranded me on the highway, served romantic interests, and consumed all my disposable income.Įscaping to the east coast freshened my perspective: give me those walkable distances, bike paths, unreliable buses, and crumbling train infrastructure. Every vehicle I drove was “pre-owned” and equal parts charming and dilapidated. But the mountainous west is colossal, grandiose, and requires a car to accomplish literally everything, so of course I capitulated. This is rare in my home state of Wyoming, where most kids learn to drive manual before the first day of high school - I had to make every effort to avoid the attendant responsibilities of vehicular ownership. I didn’t get my driver’s license until I was 19 years old.
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