before my severe bulging disc-osteophyte i never understood rv’s, those people who drive through the grand tetons without actually hiking the trails, like the 90% of yosemite visitors who don’t leave the paved paths, but as my anterolisthesis continues to slip, i view life differently, i now see wheelchairs & sitting people, i never assume anything anymore, i used to think non-walkers were lazy, that not standing was weak, why drive when you can run? walk? bike? now i cry when watching documentaries about disabled people, my people, my new story, i used to hike miles and miles with my son, now i barely walk at all, but i can still drive down highway 1, pacific coast, alongside surf, crashing waves, seals, pelicans, whales, you get the drift, the past is over, no time machine is coming to get me, like fugazi said, you can’t be what you were, so you better start being, just what you are, so now i drive, there is beauty in the drive.
Tag: Driving
How To Commute On A California Highway
first, don’t get in your car, bike the 18 miles, you will never get there in time and that’s okay, second, stay in the right lane, but go at least 75, this scares cars getting on the freeway, but the thrill is worth it, if you must leave the right lane, do it quickly, stare at old toyota camrys, space out for several seconds, this was your high school ride, keep wishing you were younger, never turn on the radio, it interferes with your breathing, listen to your inhale/exhale, if a tesla is speeding (and they always are), drive nearby, they will get pulled over, not you, if you see an 18 wheeler, stay behind it, imagine that square as a canvas, what would banksy paint there? try to remember that each vehicle contains at least one human, they are really alive, you must protect them, this means checking blind spots and using a turn signal, whatever you do, don’t think too much, the asphalt and fluorescent lines don’t care, they’ve seen thousands of you.
She Drives Real Fast
don’t call her old
or elderly, foot on the
accelerator, doing 73 mph
on a south carolina highway
near myrtle beach, my
91-year old grandmother
in her pontiac, like the
jan and dean song about
the lady from pasadena
she died a year later
left me the car
determined to follow her
lead and never stop
moving forward
Roadkill
quiet road
at night
when headlights
cease, time
of possum
raccoon and
the skunk
they wander
on asphalt
journeys, while
we sleep
they sniff
and scurry
when the
moon is
full or
waning, under
stars and
foggy skies
they are
out there
yet unseen
but come
morning sometimes
stiff dead
bodies, and
we just
swerve, in
a hurry
Daniel W. Polk 