So if you’ll recall from last time, I had driven from Chicago to New York as a terrified 19-year old in my girlfriend Lisa’s 1974 Ford Country Squire Station wagon – all 14 glorious feet of it. Having run out of gas several times in Ohio, and experienced the thrill of driving the speed limit in the passing lane through New Jersey, I was less enthusiastic about the drive back, but I couldn’t abandon the car, and nobody wanted to drive back with me, so at the appointed hour, I took a bus across town to my parking space and headed west across the George Washington Bridge. Continue reading
Okay, so I came to driving a little late.
Having grown up in New York City, I had no reason to learn to drive. And I went to college in Chicago, so again no reason to drive – until you realized that without transportation, you are essentially a prisoner of Hyde Park, which is not without its own peculiar charm, but please. Continue reading