The Sunday Drive

Back when I was a child, somewhere between the time that dinosaurs ruled the earth and Bill Gates took over, one of my favorite adventures was the Sunday drive. The cost of gas at this time was measured in cents and not dollars and no one knew the “MPG” of their vehicles. We just knew this was cheap entertainment for a family of three.

With my mother riding shotgun and me in the back seat, sans car seat or seat belts since Ralph Nader had yet to condemn the car as unsafe at any speed, my father would pilot the family car through the back roads of north eastern Pennsylvania. I didn’t take any books or toys with me, there was no such thing as a television that didn’t weigh as much as a small moose and require an electrical outlet so there was no television in the car, and the only choice we had on what we could listen to other than our own conversation was four radio formats, one station each: contemporary, news/talk, country and oldies, which was music from the World War II era. Quite frankly, we rarely had the radio on unless listening for news.

Our only navigational aids were the hot yellow globe in the sky, provided it was not too cloudy, and my fathers memory. He had lived in that part of the state his entire life, but many of the roads we drove down, he had no memory of, or so he said. We didn’t use a map, and although I’m sure one was neatly folded in the glove compartment, the roads we were driving along didn’t even have street signs, so they certainly were not going to show up on any Pennsylvania state map.

Sometimes we had a specific destination in mind, like going to visit a relative and taking the “scenic route” but more often than not it was just “let’s go for a ride”. It was the mystery of where we would end the day that had me as riveted to the path we were taking as I would be later in the week to the new episode of Batman on television.

As we drove along the familiar “main” roads that led to the “back” roads, I would hope for various things as we passed certain landmarks. Could we stop for a drink at the Lion fountain along the side of the road that poured out sweet spring water? There was a collapsible plastic cup in the glove compartment in case we did. Could we stop for ice cream at the dairy? This particular dairy milked the cows in the window and you could watch them while you ate then-exotic flavors like strawberry cheesecake and black walnut. Because of the association of cows and ice cream, the smell of cow manure would set off the Pavlovian response of making me crave ice cream. Could we end up at the home of one of my cousins, so I would have a play mate for a few hours? Would we go to the Game Preserve and see prairie dogs and buffalo or Hawk Mountain to see, well hawks? The possibilities seemed endless.

Usually, at some point, my father would declare that he did not know where he was. For a brief moment I would be worried and either my mother or I would suggest that we stop and ask for directions, which of course we never did. Within ten, fifteen minutes tops, he would then announce that he now knew where he was, and would usually name a town or a road that gave me no clue as to where we “were”.

When I went out on my own, I was worried that I had no “sense of direction”. I couldn’t tell north from south west, and I wanted explicit written directions any time I drove anywhere new. Gradually, as I became more comfortable with my driving skills, I began to wander off the well worn paths to see what was “out there”. I drove down forest service roads in Colorado and ocean front roads in California, all without a map or a GPS or anything other than my head and my gut. And you know what? Not once did search and rescue have to come out and look for me, nor did I run out of gas or do an accidental “Thelma and Louise” and drive off a cliff. It was just as if I had “learned” innately from being an observant passenger on those drives of yesteryear. Just keep going long enough and you will find out where you are.

As for the generation that is currently being raised, we all need to be very afraid. They have never gone for long drives and looked at the leaves turning color or tried to spot deer or just enjoyed the scenery. They go nowhere without a video game or other toy, a DVD playing and an iPod of music they have carefully chosen in their ears. When they do get behind the wheel they are going to need a little voice from the dashboard to bark directions to them so they can find their school or the mall. If you asked them for directions they would look at you blankly and pull out their phones with the internet connection. So much information out there and so little of it in their heads.

I feel sorry for these kids who are missing so much. It’s not their faults; it’s the parents that wanted complaint free drives where the words “are we there yet?” are never heard. These kids will miss the wild turkeys that scuttle across the road, the hawks sitting on the wires, the subtle color palates that accompany each season.

Let’s hope that no ill ever befalls the GPS satellites in the sky. Oh wait, if that happens, since I don’t need things like that, and since Bill Gates has stepped down as chairman of Microsoft, maybe it will be my turn to rule the earth.