Goodbye, beloved steering wheel

  • By Phyron
  • Aug 29, 2023
  •  – 3 min read

What would you do if someone told you that you cannot drive again? Any car? Ever?

Dear reader,

You and I have at least two things in common:

  1. We don’t know much about the future
  2. Every morning we wake up one day older.

You like cars, right? What will YOU do when, one day in the hopefully distant future, you can’t … or shouldn’t drive a car anymore? I mean … any car … ever again?

It just happened to me. And I must admit that it’s a bummer. But, in my case it’s almost OK. I already have a self-driving car (just keep on reading). And I got my driver’s license way back in the summer of ‘64, nearly 60 years ago. I have arguably had my fair share of highway highs.

At 18, I couldn’t afford a car of my own but I grabbed every opportunity to borrow my dear father’s Volvo. With or without his permission. No babe trap for sure, but I vividly remember the instant adrenalin rushes. Since then I have driven all sorts of cars within financial reach, on all sorts of roads. Some more memorable than others.

Fighting the world’s worst traffic with my old, battered, and rusty Ford Escort in Manila ... ”If they know you don’t give a sh-t, even the cab drivers will keep the distance.” …

Driving the coolest little Suzuki soft-top convertible along the notorious Divorce Highway — the road to Hana on Maui. Me and my wife enduring 52 miles of horrible hairpin curves and one-lane bridges. We’re still married, thank you for asking ...

The vintage Mustang cab rides from San Bernardino to Knott’s Berry Farm on the the Pacific coast. Short trip but … a cool cab in southern California … say no more. And, in stark contrast, the Voyagers bringing the entire family to far-out places like Key West and Cape cod ...

The serial collision near Valencia, with 40 bottles of Rioja neatly stacked in the trunk of our compact Golf GTI. They all survived, but the car that crashed into us had to be towed away. Sturdy little fellow, that GTI ...

Getting an honorable speeding ticket testing the limits of my wife’s old Porsche 944 on the German Autobahn. ”Sie fahren sehr schnell”, said the smiling autobahnpolizei officer. … This happened on the way back from a memorable week on the narrow, winding roads of Tuscany ...

And an endless memory lane in other Volvos, Saabs, Mercs, KIAs, Hondas, Beamers … Nothing fancy, but a fair collection of adventures on wheels. 60 years.

Anyway: My eye doctor and I finally agreed that it’s time to quit. So now I get around in a self-driving family car named Liz. Sorry, my loving wife didn’t quite appreciate that lame joke either: “You’re spending far too much time around those car-crazy guys at Phyron”, she said. "Now, give me the keys, please."

Rolf Andersson
Phyron Writer and Editor