Road Warriors: Life Lessons 5h5y1x

ROAD WARRIORS

LIFE LESSONS

JoAnn Morris Matthews

Copyright © 2013 by JoAnn Morris Matthews.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013906358 ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4836-2415-0 Softcover 978-1-4836-2414-3 Ebook 978-1-4836-2416-7

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Rev. date: 4/15/2013

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Road Warriors: Life Lessons

Chapter 1 Road Warriors Exist

Chapter 2 Practice, Practice, Practice

Chapter 3 Actions And Reactions

Chapter 4 License Earned—Lessons Continue

Chapter 5 Nice Weather For Ducks

Chapter 6 Live And Learn—Hindsight Is Always 20/20

Chapter 7 The Bell Lesson

DEDICATION

With love and devotion to three life-long ers of any personal experience I encountered along life’s narrow way. My mother and father, Jean and Douglas Morris, and my Aunt Marie Helgren have been guiding influences throughout my life. Mom and Dad have earned their journey to heaven. Their presence is felt moment-by-moment. Aunt Marie will enjoy this read. She will some of these experiences.

ROAD WARRIORS: LIFE LESSONS

CHAPTER 1 ROAD WARRIORS EXIST

Consider four tons of sheet metal mixed with body parts. This is neither a pretty sight nor a good combo. Not a pleasant thought. The chance to mix the two ingredients becomes available every time someone gets behind the wheel of a vehicle. Driving on public streets and highways takes the literal meaning of road warrior to a whole new level in the twenty-first century. The definition of the term road warrior means “a person who travels frequently.” The term has been around hundreds of years. In the 1700s and 1800s, paved streets were nonexistent. Few vehicles crowded roadways. Drivers met infrequently on highways and byways. Driving a vehicle meant negotiating that vehicle on dirt, gravel, and narrow paths through towns and cities in our country. Being a road warrior entails so much more today.

CHAPTER 2 PRACTICE, PRACTICE, PRACTICE

Driving is a privilege pre-teens and teenagers dream of achieving. Some teens maneuver into this lesson in life without problems, limitations, or reservations. I met all three of those conditions when I learned to drive. School-instructed driver’s education did not give me all the answers. It was exciting to get behind the wheel of a car at age fourteen. Dad took me out of town on dirt or gravel roads. He was practically sitting on top of me, telling me he trusted me to listen to his instructions on driving. Right. It did not matter where he sat; the important thing was my being behind the steering wheel of a C-A-R. Mom insisted I sit on a telephone book so I could see over the wheel. The things we do to please parents. I was not too short, you understand… some steering wheels are just tall. On occasion, my ten-year-old brother insisted on visiting friends instead of riding while I was driving the car. Go figure.

CHAPTER 3 ACTIONS AND REACTIONS

Dad would say, “For every action, there is a reaction. Knowing how to react may change a result for you—like saving your life or the life of someone else. , sheet metal can be replaced. Body parts are not easily repaired. Vehicles roll off an assembly line, not your body.” Now old Dad may be right on target there. Who was I to quibble over saving my own life? I thought I was bulletproof. Just in case, I listened semi-intently as Dad talked on and on during my behind-the-wheel driving lessons. Once, we ed a field of horses grazing. A nearby sign read: “This property protected by fire ants.” Reading it kick-started laughing, which led to swerving off the gravel road—nearly running us into a ditch. Oops. Dad scowled as I guided our car back to the proper lane. Good thing no other cars were on that road. That gave a whole new meaning of “hitting a ditch” for me. Another time, on a long stretch of straight road, my brother was riding in the backseat with me behind the wheel. Dad was at his post in the front seat. Thinking I would impress my younger brother, I began talking and turned my head to see his reaction. Wrong move. The car swerved into the other lane. I did not have to be run over by another car to know what the consequences of that action could have been. What was I thinking? When I am driving, I cannot turn my head around to talk to a enger. In a loud voice, Dad stressed, “Seconds cost lives.” I was fifteen years old, still practicing to take my driving test after my sixteenth birthday. Dad asked me to back the car out of the driveway. To back up, I had to negotiate backing up over a cement culvert. No problem. I hooked the left rear tire over the edge of the culvert. Still behind the wheel in a car tilting backward to the left, I cried, “Let’s lift it off!” We slowly exited the car out the right side enger’s door. Dad—scowling, twisting his mouth, shaking his head from side-to-side—said, “Do you want US, as in together, to lift all four thousand pounds of that car?” Hindsight says I was driving him crazy and it was a short drive.

Enough said. A towing service was called. They lifted the car off the culvert. Fortunately, there was not a dent in the car or any damage to the tire in this incident. Using side mirrors help in backing up. Lesson learned the hard way.

CHAPTER 4 LICENSE EARNED—LESSONS CONTINUE

The great day arrived. I aced the driving test. I earned a driver’s license to drive without a licensed driver in the front seat beside me. I could not figure why my friends’ parents did not want their children riding with me after I got the license. If the law was fine with my driving, why would my friends’ parents not trust me? Must have something to do with experience—one of those parental judgment calls. My friends would have ridden with me. A few months after getting my license, two blocks from our home, the left rear tire blew out. My behind-the-wheel driving lessons combined with Dad’s instructions did not prepare me for the blowout! Somewhere in my brain, I figured Dad would not want to walk the two blocks to change the tire. I had not paid attention to the tire-changing routine. I drove the car home with the flat. Bad judgment call. The loud flapping noise from the flat tire preceded me as the car loped up to our curb. Dad met me at the top of the driveway screaming at the top of his lungs, “STOP THE CAR!” Trying to explain I was helping make his job easier, the flattened tire scenario must have required him to scream louder. If ever I believed in good fairies, I wished she would wave her magic wand and weave a “calming spell” over Dad at that moment. After the tire was changed and Dad’s mood was calmer, I stopped shaking from the traumatic experience. Dad said, “If you have something to say for yourself, now would be the time to share it.” I could not tell Dad why I did not park the car when the tire blew out. I knew that explanation would not win many points and seemed lame. Dad would probably have said, “That sounds like cockamamie logic to me.” I heard him say that. What does “cockamamie” mean, anyway? It must mean “screwy.” He used the word whenever I messed up and used that teen logic he was always mentioning. Dad explained reasons not to drive on a flat tire—like ruining the rim of the

wheel and metal on the pavement under pressure makes wheels bend, etc. Why not just put gas in a car to make it go? There is oil, pressure gauges, windshield washing fluid, and endless computer-generated problems to consider in car maintenance. Dad said, “When you think you know it all, think again! You do not know diddly-squat at this age. Listen and learn.” Diddly-squat, another coined phrase? Oh well, best to keep my trap shut. I had seen enough action that day. I said, “Dad, you have to trust me. I will earn that trust.” Dad said, “Trust you? Why should I trust you? I don’t even like being in the same zip-code area with you when your teenage logic kicks in!” I had a long way to go to earn Dad’s trust. Besides, all I had to deal with was teen logic. It was in that moment, I decided to go the distance to earn his trust with me behind the wheel of a car. Dad only acted like a grizzly bear during my driving experiences.

CHAPTER 5 NICE WEATHER FOR DUCKS

A few weeks after the tire blowout, I slid behind the wheel of my car, put the key in the ignition, and the engine coughed to life. I was leaving a friend’s house. It was pouring rain. The seat belt was fastened. What I needed was the car to be in a seat belt to keep it from sliding all over the road. I took a shortcut home. It was dark down the side street on which I chose to drive. No streetlights. My headlights showed ditches running along both sides of the road. A truck driving toward me was going too fast. Better slow down. The truck’s tires spewed gravel when they brushed the narrow shoulder. My driving instructor would have called those ditches “road hazards that required slower speed.” Outstanding—I ed a driver-training lesson. It was late. I was tired. “Stay alert,” I said aloud. Surely, I only had to drive a couple more miles. No gas stations around. My gas gauge was hitting the “E” mark. I decided in that moment I would always check the gas level before leaving home. I hit a slight dip. “Hold on to the wheel,” I told myself. “Keep it steady. It’s simple, just do it,” the sound of Dad’s voice echoed in my head. I wished for Dad’s presence. This drive was not fun. Keep driving, be steady, stay alert, and think. What was the information about getting close to home the driving instructor repeated all the time? Oh yeah, he said, “Keep your seat belt fastened all the way home. Most accidents happen within a few blocks of your own home. People let down their guard in familiar territory.” Where was familiar territory? I was lost as a goose and hoping I was close to home. Right now, the bed in my room would be the safest place in the world. Gosh, that was a childish thought. Now where did that come from? Fear. Pure fear. I looked down at the greenish glow of the dashboard lights. The road was spooky. No streetlights. Rain was pelting down hard. It seemed to be trying to

splat through the windshields into the car. Not knowing if an animal would run into the road any minute was scary. I wanted to stop driving. Stop where? Decision time. I slowly pulled over to the side of the road. I thought about my situation and decided to drive slowly a few more blocks. I wanted to get to a lighted area and recognize surroundings. Cell phone service was nonexistent. Logic panned out. Home was only a mile away from my state of lost.

CHAPTER 6 LIVE AND LEARN—HINDSIGHT IS ALWAYS 20/20

Dad. What a guy! After all these years, I am probably still safer on the road because of him. He taught me to drive defensively. “The best defense is a good offense,” Dad would say. “Watch out for the other guy on the road. You may encounter a sudden jerk of your car in an unanticipated turn or movement into a lane on short notice. Keep your eyes on the road. Watch for objects in the road. Trucks throw off pieces of rubber from tires. Careless people toss glass bottles and cans on the road. Those objects are beneath your line of vision and can create havoc with your tires and cause your car to swerve off center. “Dangerous objects fall from trailers or trucks. If you are following too closely, those objects can become a part of your vehicle.” Sounds like a war zone? It is.

CHAPTER 7 THE BELL LESSON

Dad said driving is like ringing a bell. Once you ring it, you cannot “un-ring” it. Drive within the confines of the law and good judgment—or the bell will ring (an accident may happen). This cannot be undone. Dad’s best advice was to use my head. He quoted Will Rogers, a cowboy philosopher, who said, “Good judgment comes from experience, and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.” I learned so much when I learned to drive a car.

LIFE LESSONS TO TAKE AWAY FROM THIS BOOK:

• The best defense is a good offense. • Keep your eyes on the road. • Awareness is essential. • Stay alert in all circumstances. • Realize sheet metal is expendable; body parts are not. • Obey warning signs. They exist for a reason. • Stay a safe distance from other drivers. • Be a courteous driver. • Actions create reactions. • Good car maintenance is critical. • Check your car gauges regularly. • Use your head.

Lives—including your own—depend on good judgment.