One of the worst feelings as a car enthusiast is doing damage to your own car. One day you’re driving along, having a good time, and then boom. Apparently you took a turn too sharply, and the back wheel had a brief kiss with the concrete curb. And now your wheel has a rather nasty rash on it. And by you, I mean me. It seems there is no car in my ownership history that I’ve not hit the wheel on the curbs at least once.
Perhaps I should take up the finance manager on the extra wheel and tire insurance next time…
Speaking of driving: now that my dad is proper retirement age, it slightly worries me whenever he gets behind the wheel. It’s plain fact that as we age, our attention and reflexes deteriorates. It only takes one scant moment of inattention for something negative to happen. If I can carelessly misjudge a corner, then my father at twice my age is just that much more accident-prone. It’s not a value judgement, simply math.
Whenever I get in my friends’ vehicles, I never have to stress about their driving. I can afford to pay zero attention to the road, and have pleasant conversations. Not so when riding in my dad’s Toyota RAV-4. I am compelled to pay attention to the road for him, on the off chance that his total bandwidth isn’t enough to spy that rogue truck that is running a red light. Who knew that getting driven around can be so un-relaxing.
So I solved the problem completely: whenever I am on the road with my dad (my mother doesn’t drive), I will always be the one driving. This gives me peace of mind, and also puts my destiny in my own hands. If the BMW M2 gets damaged - a wheel curbing, for example - I want it to be me who did it. Then I get to stew in my own stupidity for at least the rest of the day.
We glow.