I’m not the world’s best driver. I’m not really a bad driver, just a nervous one. Have you ever been stuck in a line of cars at the bottom of the Old Gunflint Trail waiting for an indecisive driver trying to determine when she could go? You may have been behind me. Have you been trapped behind a line of cars on Highway 61 because that first motorist won’t pass the slow RV? Sorry, that first vehicle was probably mine.
I don’t think I’m a terrible driver— just overly cautious. So in a way, I’m probably safer than a lot of other folks who go speeding around the country, passing in questionable areas and following closer than they should. No, I just drive other drivers crazy.
Part of the problem is that I’m perspective-challenged. I have a really hard time judging speed and distance. I can’t pull up to an intersection and instantly know whether I have time and space to get into traffic. I have to watch a vehicle—or two—go by to determine when I can enter the roadway. If I’m on Highway 61, I need another vehicle far ahead to help me figure out if there is room for me to pass and reenter safely.
Whenever I’m in such a situation— sitting at the intersection of Wisconsin Street and Highway 61 waiting for traffic to clear or stuck in a line of traffic on Highway 61—I imagine my husband Chuck behind me. He would be screaming and swearing up a storm. When I’m riding with him and we’re behind another driver, I try to defend my overly cautious compadre. Chuck doesn’t buy it. People who have perspective have no patience with those who do not.
My biggest driving difficulty is parking. No matter what I drive, large vehicle or small, I have a hard time judging how close I am to other vehicles or objects. Inevitably when I park and get out of the car or truck, I am surprised at how far away I am from the other car’s bumper. But somehow, I always manage to scrape the curb.
So, imagine my dismay this week when I stopped by Java Moose for a delicious hazelnut latte (my usual) to find a completely deserted parking lot. Normally, parking at Java Moose is tough because of the number of vehicles there, parked willy-nilly. Without lines, no one really knows exactly where they should park, so there is always a different arrangement when you arrive. However, I can usually figure out where I will fit and I cautiously find a spot. Of course when I get out of the car I find that I’m parked three or four feet farther away from the other cars than I need to be.
But last Wednesday I was there very early, when our friendly local baristas were still hanging up their coats and turning on the amazing coffee machines. Before any other cars were in the crowded little parking lot. I was bewildered—where to park?
It took me a minute to imagine what the parking lot looked like when full. I had to leave a lane on the lakeside of the lot for cars passing through to Wisconsin Street. I had to leave a lane on the Highway 61 side. That wasn’t too hard to calculate. But how close to the building should I be?
I finally pulled in, as straight as possible, a car length (I hoped!) from the bike rack on the lakeside, and headed inside for my latte. Of course as I waited, a half dozen other people came in, parking their cars all around me.
I got my coffee and got back to my car and out of the parking lot as quickly as possible. With the comeand go traffic at Java Moose, I knew I could possibly screw up the parking pattern for the entire day. I think I did okay, but if my perspective problems caused parking problems at Java Moose all day Wednesday, I apologize. I’ll park on the street next time. All of us are watchers— of television, of time clocks, of traffic on the freeway— but few are observers. Everyone is looking, not many are seeing
Peter M. Leschak
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