The summer I was fourteen (1951), Steve and Mother and I went over to the railroad to
pick up the mail, which was thrown off the train near Milepost 29 (from Tucumcari).
Steve was being casual and ran the jeep up on a hump of yucca. After we found the heavy
canvas mailbag and were ready to start home, he said to me, “Adaline and I’ll push, you
steer.” When the jeep’s tires were back on the ground, they climbed in and he chuckled,
“You drive.”
“I don’t know how to drive.”
“What??? How old are you??? Well, time you learned. That’s the brake pedal and that
one’s the clutch; you push it down when I tell you.”
So off we went, across the Creek Pasture; he steered when we crossed the creek and
when we went through the cattleguard. It worked pretty well, except that I had some
trouble with the steering, not knowing what to expect — and the steering wheel of that
war-surplus jeep with no top and no windshield was loose. So the jeep was slow to
respond and I kept turning too much. We crossed the road about every fifty feet. But we
got back to Nana’s and I was pretty pleased with myself.
Half an hour later Tom – who was all of sixteen and had been driving on the ranch since
he was eight or nine – came up to the house for lunch. “What drunk Mexican has been
driving up here?”
“That was me!”
“That’s what I thought. Har, har, har. Crossed the road every now and then.”
“But it was my first time.”
“Yeah, har, har, har.”
“And the steering wheel is loose.”
“Yeah, about a turn-and-a-quarter play. Har, har, har.”
“But …”
“Yeah. Har, har, har.”
I was mad then and I still am.
LMD 2009
Learning to Drive
The summer I was fourteen (1951), Steve and Mother and I went over to the railroad to
pick up the mail, which was thrown off the train near Milepost 29 (from Tucumcari).
Steve was being casual and ran the jeep up on a hump of yucca. After we found the heavy
canvas mailbag and were ready to start home, he said to me, “Adaline and I’ll push, you
steer.” When the jeep’s tires were back on the ground, they climbed in and he chuckled,
“You drive.”
“I don’t know how to drive.”
“What??? How old are you??? Well, time you learned. That’s the brake pedal and that
one’s the clutch; you push it down when I tell you.”
So off we went, across the Creek Pasture; he steered when we crossed the creek and
when we went through the cattleguard. It worked pretty well, except that I had some
trouble with the steering, not knowing what to expect — and the steering wheel of that
war-surplus jeep with no top and no windshield was loose. So the jeep was slow to
respond and I kept turning too much. We crossed the road about every fifty feet. But we
got back to Nana’s and I was pretty pleased with myself.
Half an hour later Tom – who was all of sixteen and had been driving on the ranch since
he was eight or nine – came up to the house for lunch. “What drunk Mexican has been
driving up here?”
“That was me!”
“That’s what I thought. Har, har, har. Crossed the road every now and then.”
“But it was my first time.”
“Yeah, har, har, har.”
“And the steering wheel is loose.”
“Yeah, about a turn-and-a-quarter play. Har, har, har.”
“But …”
“Yeah. Har, har, har.”
I was mad then and I still am.
LMD 2009