I’ve hated driving since the day I received my license. Unlike most teenage boys, I didn’t spend the night before my 16th birthday sleeping in the backseat of my parents’ Country Squire station wagon, waiting for that magic moment when I became street legal.
I enjoyed driving for a day or two, because mobility equalled freedom. Freedom to get away from my crazy family for a few hours, freedom to leave the neighborhood, freedom to introduce my girlfriend, Dianne, to the wonders to be found on deserted country two-tracks.
But the thrill didn’t last. Well, maybe that’s not true with regard to Dianne and the two-track … but every other aspect of driving soon grew tedious.
Part of it early on had to do with the car I was driving, a 1964 Beetle that needed to be push-started every morning.
A string of equally luxurious automobiles came after the bug. Most of the time I could have afforded something better, but I just didn’t care enough about my ride to spend the money.
I might have invested in a vehicle with more paint than rust, but I sang in a rock & roll band and therefore didn’t need a cool car to get girls. So instead I spent the money on leather pants and new guitars (this was the ‘70s, remember).
Long trips, even during times I owned nice cars, were nightmare-city for me. The idea of being cooped up behind the wheel of a vehicle just scares the bejeebers out of me.
It’s not that I’m especially claustrophobic (though I am), it’s that I hate paying attention to anything for extended periods of time. This lack of attentiveness was my bane in ninth-grade algebra class and has been a problem for me as a motorist my whole life.
My mind wanders. I miss freeway exits, the occasional stop sign, guardrails along steep mountain passes. My highway speed — when I’m not using cruise control — fluctuates from 32 mph to 80.
I am a menace.
Which is why I’m so geeked by the idea of self-driving cars. I keep reading about them and with every article I read, I get more excited. Several major car companies are testing them, as is Google. Most of the testing is going on in California, apparently; I’m not sure why.
As I understand it, there have been a few accidents, but none the fault of the self-driving technology. It’s been human error. Humans like me.
Frankly, my robot chauffeur can’t be delivered soon enough. I’m more than ready to stretch out in the backseat, put my feet up and watch the countryside roll by while Robbie does the driving.
My only regret is the technology didn’t come along sooner, back when I was still dating Dianne. It’s harder for cops to shine that flashlight into a moving vehicle.
mtaylor@staffordgroup.com
(616) 548-8273
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