Driving: It all hurts

DRIVING : IT ALL HURTS

Been driving all night, my hands wet on the wheel.

There's a voice in my head that drives my heel.
My baby called said I need you here
It's half past four and I'm shifting gears.
 
Oh! Hi! Didn't see you there.
I was listening to Golden Earring's hit from the 70's "Radar Love" It sounds better on stolen drive-in speakers and played on an eight track.

Today's subject is driving:

They say you don't really learn how to swear until you start driving. Lately I have noticed that drivers are getting worse and worse so I sat myself down and asked myself why, and started answering myself. (you can do that at my age.) Could it be that other people would only appear to drive worse and it's just me driving bad? Naah! That's silly! Other folks drive like idiots, but I have to admit that lately I have been seeing more middle fingers than a manicurist and frankly, it worries me.  
Sure, I've grown older, but I'm pretty sure that just makes me a better driver. My reflexes are so fast they would allow me to be a professional boxer....Well, maybe an amateur... OK maybe about thirty years ago. My point is I'm not the slowest person in the world. There must be some other reason people are waving digits at me. I don't have any obnoxious bumper stickers to make them mad. 
I have had some weird problems though. 
If you've read any of my previous posts, spirit activity has been a problem for me. It appears I am a locus for Ghostly aggression. It has become a factor in my driving. I suspect the poltergeists in my house have been in touch with their cousins, the gremlins. The little jerks are messing with me. It's really getting old fast. I'm hoping this is not indicative of my future after-life. Somehow they can my speedometer. I will be driving along thinking I am going the speed limit but I'm actually going ten miles under it. Then they will turn on my left blinker so no one can pass me and before you know it I look like I'm leading a funeral procession. They also manipulate stop lights with comical results...or not. I get out of there pretty fast if I hear tires squealing. While driving I look down and about half the time my emergency brake is on. What kind of idiot gremlin does this?
The gremlins have also taken control of my mirrors.  I will try to switch lanes and suddenly there's a car  where there wasn't one. It never shows up in my rear-view mirror. It appears out of thin air and I'd swear there were no cars anywhere near me for the previous two miles.
I'll go to the mall and my car is not where I left it. The little suckers move it. I usually find it around dark when most of the other cars are gone.

I can tell these pranks are supernatural because when I check the instruments later there is nothing wrong with them. 
I often find my keys in the ignition, car door or the door to my house. No doubt the poltergeists in my house give the keys to the gremlins. 
People I've talked to at the bar are experiencing the same type of things. I wonder if the bar is where gremlins hang out waiting for unsuspecting drivers. all I can say is I hope no one gets hurt because of them
I've been driving a lot more in unfamiliar situations. My orthopedic surgeon is in a different town so I'm lost about fifty percent of the time. I am the type of person who gets lost going to the bathroom. I really need one of those GPS units because, frankly sometimes I can't hold it. 
I'm good at recognizing places where things didn't used to be, which is not much help figuring out where I am. 
About a year ago I was going to work and there was a huge power outage. All the street and highway lights were out and it was pitch black. I ended up lost in a town thirty miles away. Most people would think after ten minutes that they missed their exit and they would begin to wonder where they were and circle back. Not me. On a related note, I think there should be a second chance exit ramp for people over fifty. 
Since I quit drinking coffee I have almost no concept of time. Without coffee I often find myself sitting and staring at an object and when I look at my watch fifteen minutes have gone by. Sometimes I do that when my wife is talking. Come to think of it, I did that to my wife before I quit drinking coffee. After fifteen minutes listening to my boss all I can do is sit and watch his mouth move up and down like a ventriloquist's dummy.

I've been driving a lot more defensively, maybe too defensively, or in other words, like my Grandmother. The recommended rule of thumb is to keep a distance one car length for every ten miles per hour you are traveling from the car in front of you. I noticed that lately I have been keeping about three car lengths for every ten miles an hour.  My wife and son are pretty good drivers but I cannot stand driving with them. What they consider a good distance from a car I consider tailgating. 
RANT WARNING (I do this sometimes, usually when my feet hurt or I feel strongly about something.)
As long as I'm speaking of it, I will broach the subject of tailgaters. I really, honestly, truly hate tailgaters. I have have had several new cars hit by tailgating fools. It's some consolation that the tailgaters always get the ticket but my car never drives the same afterwards. They are always fearless (Fearless in the sense of stupid) young people that insist two feet from my car is far enough away. Many are malicious and think it's funny to jack with an old,fat, bald guy. If they continue tailgating they may go to prison. I hear getting rear ended happens a lot there. 
Now days if I'm in my truck and someone persists in tailgating me and will not pass me after I tap my breaks several times, I become annoyed.
I have developed a defensive strategy. I will down shift. For you people who have never driven a stick that means shifting from fourth or fifth to second or first, depending on how fast your going and how fast you want to stop. It doesn't do your transmission a whole lot of good.  My truck can drop speeds of up to forty M.P.H. in about twenty yards without my break lights indicating I'm slowing down. Lets see one of these new toy cars that look like a space ship designed by Victoria's Secret do that! (Why in the world do cars wear bras? Are their headlights sagging?) They are in a situation where they can't stop fast enough. 

The tailgater's choices are (A.) Hit my huge all metal, vintage bumper I had welded on, total their car and get a ticket or (B.) drive off the road, perhaps total their car and get a ticket. If they manage to avoid both A. and B. they pass me at the speed of fear, and get away with just the cost of having their seats cleaned. 
The cost of the bumper? Sixty bucks. The look on their ashen faces? Priceless. They sort of look like Rodney Dangerfield. I get the added benefit of learning some new words as they go by. (Some things I don't understand. Anybody know why a someone on a gas pole would wear a duck shoe?)  
If there are girls in the car they will be beating on the driver. Most girls have acquired brain cells by that age. Boy's brain cells are stuck in lust induced brain freeze and won't become active again until they are thirty five...maybe. 
If I'm in my wife's car my alternate strategy is to go ten miles an hour till they go away. It's not nearly as satisfying. 

Today's younger drivers have had their brains turned into tomato paste by music that sounds like musicians beating their amplifiers to death with a bass guitar. There is no melody and no lyrics to it. It's just two bass notes played over and over at two hundred decibels. The sound makes the car swell and retract like a bullfrog in heat. It has affected their brains to the point they wear their hats crooked and their pants down around their gas pedal. They can't hear a thing. I can see why texting has become popular.
I think my car needs some work. Consider a scenario where my son and I go to the grocery store in separate cars and we leave at the same time. My son arrives at the grocery store while I'm pulling out of our driveway. This is because I have a car that is so under-powered that when I push down on the accelerator the car won't move for fifteen minutes. My son, driving at the speed of sound, reaches the store in seconds. My attitude about me working on a car is, it saves some money and will possibly maim me for life. The extent of my mechanical ability ends at getting the gas cap off if I can find it, which I can't on the Honda. I went to my mechanic, Bob, for advice and he informed me  he would need to replace the incunabulum, a spatchcock valve, an excrusion chip (something to do with computers) and an aegrotat, he turned to Ted the other mechanic and asked him what he thought it could be. Ted nodded solemnly, spit  and said "Yup, looks like a bad aegrotat for sure." Bob showed me his worksheet and an estimate. I told him I would be back when I found a buyer for one of my kidneys. The way my car runs doesn't bother me nearly as much now.
Switching between my truck and my wife's Honda is confusing. The Honda has an automatic transmission and my truck is a five speed. In the Honda I often slam my foot down on a non-existent clutch while I wave my arm around trying to find the gear shift. I can never find the %$#*&(#@) door handle, the window buttons, gear shift, windshield wipers or the trunk latch in the Honda. I think they may all be under the seat. God help me if I need to turn on the head lights. If I'm out of town I normally stop at a McDonald's for something to eat. When I pull up to order in my wife's car, I can't find the window buttons so I have to get out of the car and talk to a life sized plastic McBurgler to place my order. I have to get out of the car again at the pick up window. 
The Honda has lots of  little indecipherable symbols that are supposed to indicate what the functions are for all the buttons. For all I know they might fire a missal or lay down an oil slick. They may as well be in Japanese. There are some engineers in Japan laughing their butts off. I'll bet I could easily understand the symbols on the cars in Japan. I think they are still mad about WWII.
This is way more than I had planned on writing but I feel better about going back on the road. Self justification and ranting are underrated. I still don't understand why people drive worse and cuss more.
I will try to organize my thoughts later. I think I'll go for a drive to clear my head. Time to crank it up. Dang it! Who put this thing in Reverse? Check engine light? What the bejeepers does check engine mean?

* * * HAPPY MOTORING * * *
Curmudgeon out.

The Radio's playing some forgotten song
Brenda Lee's coming on strong
The newsman sang his same song
One more radar lover gone