Drive While You Still Can

The temperature nudged into the 90s that afternoon, but I had the windows down because I wanted to feel, and smell, the outside air after 30 days in three hospitals. (Of course I also had the air conditioning on: I did not descend from pioneer people.)

Before that I had the memory of a nighttime ambulance ride to the emergency room as my most recent road trip, helmed by a plump pair of excessively jolly paramedics, one driving, one just looking out the window. I suspect they were pleased to have a Friday night passenger who wasn't actively bleeding or spitting up. The driver swerved to avoid a dog, or so he said: I was strapped down, studying the beige ambulance ceiling, so I couldn't see any stray dog, but I suspect he was checking messages on his cell phone. (The driver, not the dog. Or maybe both.)

Only twice since I got my learner's permit at age 15 had I spent any extended time not driving-both were the result of hospital stays. The first was eight days, caused by a rodeo bull who was not satisfied to just buck me off after two seconds, but kicked me behind my right knee, hard. The second was 13 days, due to a bleeding ulcer, the origins of which were never determined, which also briefly shut down my liver. It went away as quickly and mysteriously as it came.

Thirty days, though-plus a few sick days at home before that ambulance ride-and I figure it was a solid 34 days of no driving, a long time for someone who does it for a living, for entertainment, for relaxation. I think I was 17 when my father, for whom climbing in his car was viewed as a task, said, "I thought you would get all this driving out of your system by now." I did not. Have not. Probably won't.

My first drive back was in a lovely emerald Isle of Man Green 2024 BMW X6 M60i, price almost $112,000. I almost felt overserved: It did not have to be in such an overqualified vehicle-a Yugo would have done. OK, not a Yugo, but maybe a Hyundai Accent. Anything that moves under its own power but isn't a Yugo.

And the BMW moved, with 523 horsepower from the 4.4-liter, twin-turbo V-8, and a 0-60 mph time of 3.7 seconds, per BMW. I got 3.8 seconds after I got comfortable in the big SUV. It will go 177 mph, but I didn't get nearly that comfortable.

It lacked nothing. I drove everywhere, and nowhere. Maybe 150 miles. The last 50, I was driving on regained instinct. It took longer than I thought.

I-we-need to drive every day we can. It is a privilege granted not by the state, but by He or She who grants all privileges, and it can be taken away so quickly. Mine almost was.

The last word goes to late journalist Brock Yates, my mentor, friend, and eventually employee at Car and Driver. Several of us were in my office, grousing about flights to press events.

"Will I get upgraded to first?"

"Will I get miles?"

"Don't they have a later flight?"

"They don't serve my brand of beer."

What do you think, Brock?

"I think we work for Car and Driver, and you ought to consider driving," he said.

Later that day he piled into a long-term press car-it may have been the five-speed manual, un-airconditioned Jeep Wrangler four-cylinder-for a 350-mile drive from Ann Arbor, Michigan, home to Wyoming, New York.

Consider driving. Such good advice.