One of the biggest things that was to happen to me during my teen years was upon me. I was going to learn how to drive! A car! Who needs that motorcycle? I can really go places in a car!
The only problem was having to learn how to drive. Learning to ride the motorcycle wasn't that big of an issue. However, it seemed like I caused more than my share of frustration on anyone who was trying to teach me to drive. I got lessons from both my parents and they both screamed at me at various times. Mind you, I never got us in an actual accident while learning, but I did come close a few times. I really can't blame them for screaming.
Up to this point in my life, I had heard my father use swear words from time to time. However, I had never, ever heard him use the "f" word. That changed the day he was trying to teach me how to drive a stick shift. I heard him use that word just one time and I knew he had never been angrier. I forget everything he said after that point because all I could think about was him using that word.
Learning how to drive from my parents was one thing. I still needed to learn from certified instructors. For whatever reason, it seemed like all the coaches I had to deal with in the sixth and seventh grade Athletics classes were the only certified instructors available for the school's Driver Education program.
At that time in New Mexico, you had to be 16 years old to get a driver's license. However, if you took Driver's Ed, you could get a license when you turned 15. This has caused problems lately when I have signed up for insurance on the Internet. When I would enter what year I started driving, the computer would freak out because it shows I was driving at 15 when, for the rest of the nation, the legal age is 16. And it's even worse if I try to put in 13, the age I got my motorcycle license.
The Driver's Ed program took place over the summer. It was composed of three phases: Class instruction, course training and road training. The class instruction was to involve 30 hours of class time. I thought it would be two hours a day spread out over 3 weeks, or maybe 3 hours a day for two weeks. I was wrong. It was six hours a day all in one week. There were about 30 students in my class, and none of us had spent all day in the same class room in more than six years.
The only part of the class anybody liked was watching the gory films of the real-life accident scenes. When I watched those, I didn't really think of it in terms of something like that happening to me. The thing that scared me was knowing that I might do something that would cause someone else to wind up like that.
The course training took place in the auditorium parking lot over two days. The lot had streets and blocks drawn on it. The instructor put out stop signs. There were six of us students taking part in the training. We were put in three teams and each car had a one-way radio through which the instructor would give directions. We basically drove around the blocks on the first day to that we could get used to braking and signalling our turns.
The second day, we had to practice parallel parking. The instructor had set out orange cones for us to park between. This was actually not the best way to learn how to parallel park. When you're parking between two real cars, you can see them clearly. The cones barely came up above the level of the hood and trunk. My partner was the only one who never ran over the cones. Still, all six of us passed and could go to the next level.
The road training took place over the course of five days. The person who was my partner from the course was also with me in this phase. The instructor had us driving around town. The car had a "chicken brake" for the instructor to step on in case something was about to get out of hand. The last thing either one of us wanted was for him to have to step on that brake. He did have to use it a few times while we were driving around. Our instructor also cussed a lot.
But we passed that. I would have to wait 2 months before I got my license because of my 15th birthday being in September of 1979. This meant I had to go the first two weeks of high school without a car. I had to walk a whole mile to school every day. (Keep in mind that I couldn't take my motorcycle. As I've mentioned before on a YouTube video here, I had to fight to keep the guys away from my motorcycle. Mom also said that if I rode a bicycle to school, I would get laughed off campus. That turned out to be a false statement from her.) I couldn't wait to take my driving test.
That day finally came after my birthday. My parents took me to the DMV. I passed the written test. The driving test went pretty smoothly, but the woman conducting the test questioned my having my right foot on the gas and my left foot ready to hit the brake at the same time. I told her that was how my Dad taught me to do it when backing up. I don't remember anything going wrong with the driving test. I just know that I passed and I was able to drive my car to school the next day.
I got so excited when I arrived at school and parked. I went in thinking I was hot stuff because I had a car. After a few minutes, I reached into my pocket. My keys weren't there! I immediately ran out to the car. I had left it unlocked with the keys in the ignition. I couldn't believe I could be that stupid during the first 24 hours of being an official driver.
I'll have more about my adventures with my car in a future post. Stay tuned.
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