From My Cold Dead Hands

I worried before I came to Saint Lucia. What would I do without a car? I took a bus once in San Francisco with my friend Leslie. It was fun. It was a novelty. There are hundreds of miles of freeways in Los Angeles. . . guaranteed, every mile is in a state of gridlock as I write this post. Before I retired I drove eight miles to work; a 45 minute commute. Los Angeleans drive. How could I adjust to life without my car?


Several years ago, a new mass transit system was built. There are blue lines and green lines. There might even be yellow lines and red lines. I’m not sure. I don’t know who rides those lines. There is no need to figure out all these colors and schedules because Los Angelean’s have cars . . . lots and lots of cars. Everyone in my family has a car. And if one car breaks down, my son has a spare. He’s not rich, just a practical Los Angelean. Could I adjust to mass transit?


A car is a source of stress. I build in time because my keys are usually “lost”. Everyone gets up and starts looking when my keys are lost. This is even more stressful because I see the stress I’m putting on my family. The oil needs to be changed every 3000 miles. Sometimes I push it to 4000 miles, but then there is a nagging voice inside my head that says, “you will pay for this later”. I hate that voice. It’s another source of stress. Even still, I need a car.


My son, Brendan, doesn’t like to stop for gas. He runs out often. If I sneak a peak at the gas tank, he makes me feel like I’m intruding on his territory. The thought of running out of gas is more stressful than the act itself. This is just another thing we must learn to deal with, because we need our cars.


My son, Kevin, is a nightmare in traffic. A recent Facebook status on his page reads, “1:45 minutes to go 20 miles on the 405. I love L.A.?” Oh, am I glad I wasn’t in his car that day. Being in a car with Kevin would guarantee the Maharishi high blood pressure. But still, this is the price we pay to live in the Sunshine State.


I had a transponder pass for the 91 Express Lane. My transponder was pure joy. Ah, the key to a stress free ten mile drive. I willingly pay up to $5 for the privilege to race down the freeway with a queen-like attitude glancing over at the snarly, ugly, bumper-to-bumper traffic where my subjects have looks of exasperation permanently imprinted on their faces. I would sail through the fast track lane at eighty miles an hour, yelling and laughing at those who were either ill-prepared or too cheap to buy their way out of a situation that would cost them an hour of their life, only to find at the end of the ten mile privileged ride that I too would be ensnarled with the others and transformed as just another commoner stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Why would I want to give all this up?


I spoke to Jay, my oldest son, today. I explained that one thing I dreaded before leaving for Saint Lucia was not having a car to drive. I explained to him that it is likely one of the more liberating things that’s happened to me since becoming a Peace Corps Volunteer. I look forward to my bus rides. I dread having to drive a car when I return home. Having lived in Honduras as a Peace Corps Volunteer he understood and agreed. As he recalled his days in Honduras, he exclaimed with glee, “it’s so nice having someone else fight all the stresses of driving”. While he was talking, I thought to myself “Why would I ever want to drive again?”


When there is talk about car-pooling in L.A., the reaction invokes such emotion that it’s easy to envision Charlton Heston rising from his grave hold a steering wheel high in the air in one hand saying, “From my cold dead hands”. I have to admit I was one of them. But while I was talking to my son, I heard words come from my mouth that even surprised me, “When I get home we ought to explore the option of public transportation together”. He left Peace Corps and Honduras ten years ago and his Los Angelean reaction was, “I don’t think it would work out mom, we’d have to move.”