I HAVE noticed a lot of ‘L’ and ‘R’ plated cars on the road recently. The journey from ‘L’ to ‘R’ was an abnormally long one for me.
When I was a teenager, we lived in the country. I walked to one friend’s house, then we went for a walk. Walking was our ‘thing’. I cycled to the house of another friend as she lived a little further away. The only downside of having a bike was the necessity and embarrassment of getting off it to walk up the steep hill back home to our house. I still have to do that. It is a very steep hill.
When I was 17 I had no notion of learning to drive. My niece turned 17 recently and she is chomping at the bit to get behind the wheel. She was telling me about her lessons the other day and it took me back.
Anyone who knows me now knows that I’m always in the car. I drive a lot. This week already I’ve driven to Portadown, Newry, Dungannon, Belfast, Glencolmcille, Belfast, Castlewellan, back to Belfast and will be in Castlewellan again tomorrow. It goes with the territory.
There was a time, though, when I would have been arranging lifts or getting the bus, because I strangely didn’t get my driving licence until I was 26. Clearly, I’ve been making up for lost time on the road ever since.
What took me so long? Witnessing my cousin topple my uncle’s Massey on to its side when we were about 10 scared the life out of me. My brother was always into cars and was practically handed his driving licence for his 17th birthday. He had no fear and was a good driver. I was in awe of him – just a little.
I went to university in Galway. We walked everywhere and eventually I joined the ranks of the bicycle owners. That green bike was my best friend, it gave me freedom, new eyes on the city and even forgave me for abandoning it outside the college bar on the odd occasion.
Between bus and bike, I had the university days sorted. I rarely spent time at home so didn’t think about driving.
Living in a city, it is easier to make do without a car but I slowly realised that I would need to learn to drive in order to make the most of my job on radio.
I lost count of the number of lessons I took. It could have been in the hundreds. I am serious. The perfectionist in me would not take the test unless I was fairly sure that I would pass first time.
I had four driving instructors over the years, starting with the most patient man in Ireland, Seán Carberry and ending with someone who I had thought was the most impatient of them all, my daddy.
How Daddy never lost his cool when he was teaching me to drive, I will never know. He was brilliant.
The biggest struggle for me about learning to drive in the country was trying to stay out of the hedge and not in the middle of the road. Then there were narrow corners and hill starts – unplanned hill stops were a frequent part of the process. These inevitably happened somewhere where it felt like everyone was watching me try to get the car moving again.
Lessons in Belfast were often white-knuckle rides. In and out of lanes, horn tooting, a lot of blind panic. I worked up a sweat on those lessons. I was a disaster!
To the great relief of my long-suffering father, I eventually took the test and passed first time. In the words of the Dixie Chicks, I had ‘taken the long way round’, but I got there.
Up went the ‘R’ plates and I drove home. I would have voluntarily driven to Belfast via Cork for the first few months, such was the sense of freedom and independence.
I quickly realised that I had only started to drive. Other drivers can be very intolerant of learner and restricted drivers. That was my experience and unfortunately, I still see it happening a lot.
No matter the hurry, the next time you get stuck behind a car bearing ‘L’ or ‘R’ plates, take a breath. We all had to start somewhere.
