Behind the Wheel

As a teenager, Dad took me out to learn how to drive. He taught all the lead-footed MacLeod daughters, one by one. As I recalled those driving lessons today, there was no sense of fear or hesitation, only excitement, adrenaline and my father's exasperation. Today, a decade and a half later, I was the very definition of the white-knuckled driver.

In an earlier post, I described the narrow, winding, up and down road to Piha. As circumstances would have it, it would be on this road that I begin my kiwi driving experience. It was unnatural, I was trying to reprogram my brain while negotiating tight turns, steep climbs, and following the GPS. On one hand I was thankful I was heading into Auckland. This meant the steep, certain death drop-offs were on the other side of the road. I was merely terrified of the non-existent shoulder and deep ditch on my side. And why was that guy trying to crawl up my ass? Fine, I'll find a spot to pull over and let him pass. Yikes! I just left part of our car in that rut. And so it went for the first ten kilometers, and then I began to relax. I was doing it, I was driving on the wrong side of the road!

It was a false sense of security; soon I entered the confusing land of blinkers, wipers, and roundabouts. Why did they have to switch the location of the blinkers and wipers? And why can't that guy behind me understand that fast wiper speed means I'm turning left? Slow wipers=right. What did Dave say about the roundabouts? Am I in the right lane? Crap, I think I'm in the wrong one. Oh well, I made it through...I'm sure I'll do better next time. And I did.

Driving in New Zealand - check.