Ya Cain’t Fix Stoopid

People have often commented on my driving . Usually the person riding my bumper is the one observing that I drive like a like old lady (not from Pasadena); while I can’t hear what they are saying, I can read lips.

Yesterday had all the elements of a great day as I drove my well-engineered Swedish chariot back up the switchbacks of CA Highway 29 over Mount St. Helena, sun and temperature were perfect for opening the sunroof and driving with the windows down.

With said windows open I heard tires squealing louder just out of my sight on the curve. I think NASCAR must make the average idjut think he can drive like Richard Petty or Dale Earnhardt. I was about at the apex of a left hairpin when the oncoming car careered around the bend straddling the double-yellow stripe. I had heard him (or her) coming, and since I drive as though most of the populace is as dumb as this guy, I went off into the gravel and avoided him.

While the safety equipment on my 1995 Volvo 850 would have protected me; I don’t need to prove it.

Drive safely everyone. Savor the moment and let the journey be as important as the destination.

For the record, my wife and mother-in-law love my driving.

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