I haven’t ever gotten any tickets for speeding, or any other type of reckless driving behavior. No tickets. In my whole life. This is probably unusual for anyone, but it’s particularly unusual for me. I really like to drive. I think I get this trait from my dad. If I DO ever get a ticket, I will consider it my dad’s fault.
My dad is a car guy, and more specifically, a Saab guy. In the photo below, he’s in his Sonnet, the 17th *14th* Saab he’s ever owned.
This car is older than me. And the car is slightly bigger than a shoe. On Sundays at 7:30 in the morning, while most people are still asleep dreaming of flowers and puppies and chocolate, my Dad drives this little car up California 2, the Angel’s Crest Highway, with a bunch of other Saab Nuts. They come from all over Los Angeles, all driving their 35 year old Sonnets.
Cal 2 is a curvy, hair-raising road through the San Gabriel Mountains of southern California. Bikers love that road also. There are frequent accidents and sometimes people die. It’s not a road for the squeamish or those sensitive to motion sickness. Or for anyone who thinks it’s wise to SLOW DOWN.
The Saab Nuts go up the mountain all year round. Even in the winter. Though my dad doesn’t like to go if the weather is questionable. Not because there might be ice or snow or it might be dangerous. Because in the winter, there’s a chance that a speck of dust might fly up from the road and adhere itself to the tender, fragile, flaming orange paint of his car. And then the rest of Sunday, he will need to polish the whole thing with silk baby napkins.
I took this ride up Cal 2 a few times. I drove up in my own car on some of the occasions. If you are a person who enjoys driving, it is the adult equivalent to being a kid and riding a roller coaster. It freezes a smile to your face. I can see why people wake up at 6 am on a Sunday (the day God says you’re supposed to sleep in) to drive up the mountain. I miss that drive.
So I get my “car love” and “drive love” from my dad. I didn’t go to driver’s ed when I was a kid. My dad taught me how to drive. So if I ever get a ticket, I’ll tell the officer that it’s not my fault. It’s GENETIC. Officer, can you please send the ticket to my dad? He’s really the one to blame.
But since haven’t gotten a ticket yet, it must be because I had such a good teacher.
Happy Birthday Dad.