A Driving Experience I Could Relive for the Rest of my Life

We asked our classic car expert Bill Wilson to consider Groundhog Day, and if he had to live the same driving experience every day for the rest of this life. This is what he shared… I bought my first new car in the spring of ’89.  It was nothing fancy, just a Ford Escort hatchback.  Unlike other vehicles I had owned, I could trust it to get me around the block without blowing up.  That, combined with the fact that I was involved with a lady on the opposite side of the country (long story) led to me drive across the United States during the summer of that year. A coast-to-coast road trip should be required for all Americans, if for no other reason than it makes one aware of just how vast and diverse this country is.  I watched in wonder as the pine trees and rolling hills of Dixie gave way to the nearly endless corn and soybean fields of the heartland. Then came the dry deserts of the far west, until, like the giants of folklore, the Rockies reared up, majestic against the wide-open sky. Driving at night has always had a special appeal for me.  That’s probably because I love ghost stories, and the night has an air of mystery and, yes, fear, that I can appreciate.  But motoring at night across the expanses of Wyoming is unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.  There’s nothing out there, just a yellow strip that runs endlessly through the utter blackness. I was used to the oppressive heat of Dixie during the summer.  But in Wyoming the July night air is deliciously cool.  I rolled the windows down and stared out into the all-consuming darkness, mile after mile, the glow of the dashboard my only companion.  If I could have captured that part of the drive in a bottle, I would relive it every day of my life.  It was exhilarating. Oh yeah – the girl that inspired the whole thing dumped me after the five-day trip to her house.  It’s okay, though.  She was kind of a bitch.  And the drive home made up for the disappointment.  But that’s a story for another post.

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