(no subject)

[geekchick]

I get no small bit of amusement from the fact that this time it was nminusone white-knuckled in the passenger seat rather than me (Miss Timid Driver). Switchbacks are fun, whee! To be fair, I've driven 211 several times and am reasonably familiar with that stretch of the road, so I might've been going a tiny bit faster than I would've if I didn't have at least a little idea of when they really meant 25 mph as a limit rather than a suggestion.

(Back story: Normally it's me cowering in fear with my eyes closed at certain points while he's driving, usually preceded by my thinking "you can't possibly fit your car into that space between those other two cars, there's not enough room".)

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[nminusone.livejournal.com]

Actually, once I stopped to think about it I realized I've had exactly one white knuckle experience in a car. It was in a taxi, in Boston, going from Logan to Waltham-ish. I tend not to have scary rides, because if someone is going too fast for my tastes, I won't hesitate to ask them to slow down. This driver, due to some combination of poor English skills and internal imperatives, either didn't understand me or just didn't care. The drive through the downtown area was harrowing, but at least we could never build up quite enough speed to have a truly horrific wreck. On the other hand a fatal t-boning was a possibility omnipresent in my mind. Once we got on the Mass Pike (iirc), things should have calmed down, since it was late enough that traffic was somewhat past its peak. However, the cabbie was an artist, and used his tools masterfully to create a withering sense of fear. The road wasn't terribly crowded, but he compensated for that with dangerously high speed and Han Solo-esque weaving. At one point I was looking around for some scrap paper to make out my will, but gave it up when I realized I would not be able to find anything both blood- and fire-proof. If there was ever a ride to make me find religion, that was the one. To this day I still blanch just thinking about it, and nothing since then has ever come close to being that bad. (For instance, my 4 hour mostly-highway ride with a novice driver, who was also just learning how to drive stick, was a walk in the park by comparison.) When I finally got home and out of that cab alive I kissed the ground, ran inside, bolted and barricaded the door, and swore I'd never take a taxi in Boston again. I also hoped to God that God realized I had just been kidding, and didn't expect me to actually follow through on any of the crazy promises I'd made over the last, very desperate, half-hour. And you know what? No revenge-smiting so far! Go me!