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May \| June 2004 Volume 78 Issue 3

My Colorado

Another responsible driver is born

By Mark Mishory

For our son, getting his learner's permit was a rite of passage. He had complained mildly about having to complete the driver's training course we had made as a requirement, especially the horrific video footage of accidents involving teens. But coming home with his driver's license on his sixteenth birthday was worth it all — he had achieved, at least in his own eyes, total manhood.

The real test by fire did not occur, however, until that summer. Our vacation would be three weeks of leisurely circling the glorious state of Colorado.

On the third day, it happened. We set out from Durango and he asked if he could drive. We were headed to Silverton! And Ouray! Along one of the steepest, most winding roads in the state! Why did he have to ask today? This was our moment of truth — his as a driver; us as parents.

I looked at my wife, then handed my son the keys. My wife promptly gave me the rights to sitting shotgun; she was going to sit in the back seat, she said, a little too cheerfully.

We left. I was calm, and proud of it. But then we started to actually climb the side of the mountains. I hadn't remembered them being so high. Or the road being so narrow. I thought we were acting very calm, until our son said that he would feel a lot better if we would breathe. We tried exhaling, which helped. There was a handle above the passenger-side door and I also realized that I was holding it as if it held me to this world. I then became aware of my legs and thighs and realized I was pressing so hard on the car floor my knees were locked.

Passing through Silverton brought a sigh of relief for the road behind us, then my anxiety returned as I looked up at the steep road ahead. But then came Ouray, oh beautiful Ouray, a place of pure joy; we had made it, we were done driving for the day.

That evening my wife mused how the whole ride up I had been listing way to the left, away from the door, as if redistributing my weight toward the middle would keep the car on the road and away from tumbling down the mountainside. Our son defended me by saying that not only had his mother been quieter than he had ever remembered, but in the rear-view mirror he could see her leaning just as hard. We all three laughed.

While my muscles ached from tension, I had to admit that my son had a driver's license, he had driven a real Colorado mountain road, and he had done it well.

Do you have a special memory or humorous story about living in Colorado? EnCompass is looking for original essays that capture the uniqueness of our state. Payment is $60 upon publication. Entries must be typed, double-spaced and 200-300 words. Please include a daytime phone number. Entries will not be returned. Mail to EnCompass, Attn: My Colorado, 4100 E. Arkansas Ave., Denver, CO 80222, or e-mail: editor@colorado.aaa.com. A response to a submission may take six to eight weeks.

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