The Many Faces of Freedom

We all have our own individual definitions of freedom and freedom comes in many forms.

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The Misadventures of Johnny One Shoe

Photo courtesy Google Images.

I drive a lot. Every day I have a 45 minute commute to work and every day I have a 45 minute, or longer, commute back home. It feels like I’m on the road all the time. I try different routes to prevent boredom and I make up songs and silly games while I’m driving to keep myself entertained. One of my favorite ways to liven up the drive is to think up clever stories for items I see abandoned along the road.

Photo courtesy Google Images

Here in California, litter is quite prevalent and if something falls off the turnip truck, the turnip truck driver just keeps driving as though he meant for the item to slide off his vehicle and crash into the road. Other crazy screw balls deliberately stop along the side of lesser used roads to dispose of unwanted items. I see a wide variety of things along just about every road I traverse to and from work. Everything from throw pillows to refrigerators, ladders, mattresses, and so on.

But, the one item that always puzzles me is that one shoe. You never see a pair of shoes, just one all by its lonesome. Why only one? I have multiple theories, but this week, I’m curious to hear your thoughts about the lone shoe lying along the side (or in the middle) of the road. Tell me readers, how do you think that shoe got there?

I’m going to award a prize to the person with the most creative and/or humorous one shoe story. So put those creative thinking caps on and leave me your one shoe theory in a comment below. I’ll choose my favorite and announce it at the end of the week.

Photo courtesy Google Images

Have fun. I’m looking forward to your ideas!

Word of the Day:  Hustings

Fun Fact About Me: One of my favorite college classes was a mining history class where we got to go exploring in old mines.

Original post by Jansen Schmidt, April 2015. Photos courtesy Google Images.

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The Race Car Driver Within

Nascar race at the Las Vegas Speedway. Photo by P. Rickrode

Have you ever wanted to be a race car driver? Come on, show of hands, who’s wanted to be a race car driver? I think I’m a race car driver every day. Even in my little cross-over Nissan Rogue, I’m secretly a race car driver. Maybe it’s because I’m a little speed demon, or maybe I like how a powerful car engine feels and sounds when you rev it up. In any event, I think you should all know that I have this compelling urge to drive a race car. It’s on my bucket list.

I’ve included a video at the end of this link that I shot while “racing” on the Radiator Springs Racers at Disney’s California Adventure Park a few weeks ago. Unfortunately I was assigned the back seat, so I didn’t have best filming advantage, but I think it turned out pretty good. You can enjoy that after this month’s edition of Take It Or Leave It – Race Car Style.

Here’s a reminder of the rules: Post your guesses (would I take it, or leave it) in the comments section below. I will post my responses Thursday. The person with the most correct guesses is my winner, but you must re-post in the comments section in order to claim your prize. It’s that simple. Unclaimed prizes will be forfeited after one week from posting the answers.

Nascar race at Las Vegas Speedway. Photo by C. Rickrode

Would I, or wouldn’t I:

1) Park in a handicapped spot;

2) Run a stop sign;

3) Tailgate (like a good race car driver would);

4) Text while driving;

5) Talk on the phone while driving (w/o blue tooth);

6) Deliberately drive slow in the fast lane to slow traffic for a known speed trap area;

7) Tap my brakes for a tailgater;

8) Drive without my seatbelt fastened;

9) Double park;

10) Use the carpool lane to pass a slower driver.

Good luck. Now here’s the video I told you about:

Word of the Day:  Intumesce

Fun fact about me: I have a clean driving record (knocks on wood)

Original post by Jansen Schmidt, April 2014. Original video by P. Rickrode via YouTube.  Original photos by Patricia Rickrode

 

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Don’t spill my beer!

At the end of last year, blogger extraordinaire, Ginger Calem, blogged about memories of her first car. There were many responses to that post, one of which was mine. (See http://www.gingercalem.wordpress.com). I’ve been thinking about that post ever since and those thoughts were the brain child of this month’s blog topic.

When I got my first car, I had my driver’s license and had been driving independently for over a year. I learned to drive on my parents’ Plymouth Volare. I know, you’re all insanely jealous, but alas, we did live in the lap of luxury so we could afford those extra little creature comforts. (Yeah right.) But, that’s not the real issue I’m discussing here. My first car was a rebuilt 1969 Volkswagen beetle. It was being used by our neighbors as a chicken feed storage bin and was infested with cobwebs and black widow spiders when we towed the thing home with 4 flat tires and a broken windshield.

This whole dream car thing started when my family and I took a little camping trip along the Northern California coast the summer before my senior year of high school. There were a lot of people having a lot of fun on the sand dunes, including a boy – a really cute boy – who had an awesome baja bug! It was love at first sight. Not so much for the boy, although he was dreamy, as for that really cute, totally cool car. My parents were over-the-top pleased that my heart’s desire for a “first car” was a Volkswagen. They’d lucked out. My brother wanted a brand new turbo-charged Mustang (which he got by the way) and I only wanted a cheap, used, inexpensive-to-insure, beetle!

That started the search for my dream car and my dad’s new project – building a baja bug! As any awesome dad would do, he made my dream come true. He transformed that feed shed into my very first cute little car. About a week before school started, it was ready. Bright and shiny and purring like a kitten. One problem – I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift. Dad to the rescue again. Below is an almost verbatim re-telling of my one and only lesson for learning to drive a stick shift:

Sunday afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky. Dad drives us out to outer Mongolia where we’re sure not to encounter another living person, pulls over to the side of the road and gets out. I adjust my new driver’s seat, buckle my new seat belt, adjust my new killer radio and sparkly new mirrors (in that order) and place hands on the steering wheel at 10 and 2. I look to my dad for instructions. He cracks open a beer and says, “Well drive. And don’t spill my beer.”

Now, please understand, I am NOT condoning this method of instruction. Nor is this particularly good parenting. However, I understand now my dad’s redneck way of getting me to learn to drive with that extra pedal on the floor. The one thing my dad loves more than almost anything is beer. To waste even one small drop by allowing it to spill is nothing short of sacrilige. I didn’t want that hanging over my head. And, heaven knows I didn’t want my new car smelling like beer. I was only 17 years old for crying out loud! Let me tell you, I learned quickly how to ease off that clutch. We jerked down that road exactly one time in each gear before I got the hang of it. Dad held the beer can out the window just in case, but it only took that one lesson and I was driving like a pro! According to my dad, it was a one-beer lesson. I think he was a little disappointed that I caught on so quickly.

Anyway, suffice it to say, I haven’t had an automatic transmission vehicle since 1981. I not only learned how to drive a manual transmission, I fell in love with the manual transmission.

So there you have it. My drinking and driver’s education trip down memory lane!

Now tell me, what’s your “learning to drive” story?

Word of the Day:  Demurrage

Fun fact about me:  I’ve never had a broken bone! (knocking on wood now)

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