Lately I find it very hard to spin up two paragraphs in a row and I notice even in the workshop when I go on Thursdays. Never mind that the issue has hook or not, because it invariably comes to blocking and driving my meeting its powerful roots in my neurons and my hands.
Finally, today, several days later, the idea that I had in my half sleep tonight, has taken shape throughout the afternoon and here I is the result: our teacher asked us a story about a journey. I must say that I exaggerated comic seems the story is 100% true: I suffer panic to drive (has a scientific name too complicated).
You can laugh at your ease, do not worry, I will not take offense. A hug.
THE NEXT TIME YOU DRIVE
For a few days after that I could not recognize myself. That trip was sido un importante punto de inflexión en mi vida. Quizá uno de los más relevantes a nivel personal, a pesar de que el espejismo del cambio duró poco, a decir verdad.
Cuando tras dos noches de infructuosa persecución de un sueño reparador y con el tiempo de mis vacaciones a punto de expirar, saqué fuerzas de algún rincón olvidado de mi subconsciente o de mi personalidad, y tuve el valor de ponerme en camino hacia mi ciudad en mi primer viaje de mediana distancia en solitario, como conductora, me sentí como el primer hombre que llegó a la luna (y no; lo mío no fue ningún montaje del gobierno estadounidense).
No obstante, once with the belt and tied the whole thing started very badly, because the nerves prevented me from starting the car with the smoothness and precision of veteran drivers and instead my new C3 responded with a tremendous jolt before stalling completely , in vain, and some tips too late, I kept repeating over and over mentally: "careful when lifting the clutch." As viewers of my own ordeal ... my parents. My mother as an exception, tried to instill courage, on the contrary my father, at other times the "good cop", he kept reminding me how clumsy it was (something I was already abundantly clear about this, without their enlightening words).
got the feat of walking out the door of the garage without scratching the body and within minutes successfully overcame another I considered "black spots of the road" in my particular pilgrimage: the ascent of the steep road neighborhood and the consummation of its perennial Stop smoothly. Next came the first twelve miles of the journey and out of town, and the arrival at the border emotional Guardo. I think that never so small a distance by car had caused me so many sensations. These twelve kilometers were a mixture of nervousness, uncertainty, tension and furtive glances at the mirror looking with all my might be the only vehicle on the road in miles (of course this desire was not fulfilled at all). At times a little voice inside, if you know me or borrow, I say, "spirits. You can "and floated before me faces of friends and acquaintances repeating the same words that I could not believe (all this without the help of hallucinogenic drugs), I guess that's why, even the voice over distrust of my ability, because at times it a sigh of relief when a car was overtaking me, and improvised a prayer of thanksgiving for having been able to overtake the tractor that was several minutes ahead of me circulating 40 km / h without damage to either party.
once stored. By then I was exhausted mentally and I still had about twenty times that distance to get to my beloved home (in this sense since that day I realized that I value more my house and my life but also those of others, of course) . But there I had to do the first stops, I chose to do the first street on the right side of my journey: the right mirror was not well regulated and for the world would agree that this increase my already long insecurity at the wheel. After that, I managed to stand the test of traffic lights: if you know I keep, you know that is perhaps the only town in Spain that have installed them but they were only working one day (there is an urban legend about it that I will not tell here, but my experience over twenty years, going there every summer, confirmed that indeed if any hail, but never have seen them up). In that sense, we can say without a doubt the real "ghost lights."
The next stop I made in Santibañez de la Peña, a town that know almost everything but his little gas station to where I went. Good thing is right and did not need any maneuver that could hinder the passage of some of the Land Rovers of neighboring Civil Guard barracks, nor the passage of the odd intrepid bystander. I filled the tank and that gave me strength for a few more miles.
Aguilar and doubted I reached between making a short stop, but emboldened as never before, I decided to travel. Big mistake! in the first round to sit up, my feet betrayed me and the clutch made fun of me again, bringing the car stalled. All this polite, friendly drivers behind waiting "patients" and the awkward silence in not conducting novel that preceded them. I do not know if the effect of ambient heat or my own stupidity, I began to sweat profusely. Yes, I started the engine again and hit a sprint worthy of any young people who play with their cars tuned to see who gets there before, without considering that this may be the last time you breathe. For a moment I feared that the National Police car was in one side of the roundabout would notice me and not be satisfied with a mere fine and the consequent withdrawal of points, but papers submitted to me to require some kind of cruel interrogation. My legs trembled, but I went to them and I made the smallest case. I made the second round and to my joy I joined the motorway without hardship. It began for me then, the quieter part of the trip: right lane, checking mirrors and other meters in the same lane ... and again the same for minutes and minutes and miles and miles. I think at some point, in a show of unusual courage got to put up the radio and hummed some of the songs, and most amazing of all, I made some progress as a true veteran. With more and more confidence and self-control, sometimes set in motion the air conditioner (the infernal noise that makes me just recalling for the millionth time the need to take a look at a shop) so a few minutes turn it off and down the window a bit to enjoy the fresh air, and cars smoke and more smoke and the cold that was beginning to notice and over the smoke of another driver hysterical ... Ugh, better close the window! I remember those stretches where the highway as a real achievement for the fate of hominid that I become when I am driving, it invariably takes over every inch of me the spirit of muscular stiffness and ends up looking like the much despised by many Quasimodo with the addition of a annoying twitching right eyelid, with which they so poor fellow did not.
The rest of the trip on the motorway went about quietly, but the swamp area Arija works and the rain put paid to my enthusiasm. Once on the highway again, having arrived in the province of Cantabria diversion wrong to leave for Bilbao and ended up in what I take to be one of the worst mountain passes you can find. I really did not see any signs that labeled as such, but the endless hikes, the narrowness of the road without shoulders lateral speed limits between fifty and seventy miles as the tranches and so on, I indicated that it was. For those land, between a closed curve and an even more closed, I prayed to all the saints and looked at the clock had not stopped even once to rest since the beginning of the trip and there was no any sign of civilization that would allow me to do a short break. With these thoughts and knowing as a fact from several miles back, I had to turn around and out and back again to that accursed cross, my huge blunder meant that he could make the change of direction as the wonderful sign on my right indicated, so I followed another forty or fifty miles, passing through tiny villages, sometimes with rain and sun and time with trying to ignore the huge gap left in the opposite lane and of course pretending to cheat on my mental vertigo with other entertainment, "looking for a place to stop," she insisted desperately. Luck came to my rescue and in a small corner, stood next to a bar. Unable to get out of the car, the fear still in the body, I called my mother, I was very clear that luck appears twice in such a short time, as was my father who picked up the phone after many rings, and was He also makes a pleasant understanding who made me feel worse than I already was. To my surprise I discovered that I wanted to mourn, but to release all my anger and frustration so I argued with him and hung up in bad ways. After that little relief: I entered the bar, ordered a Coke, went to the bathroom and before paying I asked the owner how he had to do to redirect my car to Bilbao. Corroborated my idea, the best option was to go back to the junction with the motorway, join it and take a few miles below the diversion appropriate. I did so, but until you spend a few places already known and some other tunnel, it allowed me the luxury of feeling happy finally to be doing the right course on an asphalt best care in the harrowing minutes before.
spent the rest of the way more or less quiet, with moments of more or less intense rain and even hail. At the height of Baracaldo withholding, in this case as an accident, I could verify within a few miles away, made me realize that I was finally close to home and I had enjoyed better fortune to the occupants of the unfortunate vehicle, which screws had to dodge. Bilbao I entered from the east and parked near the first. It was pouring, but I could not help to leave the stifling atmosphere of the interior of my car and scream euphoric dancing in the rain. And then came the serenity and convenience that other me characterizes areas of my life and I called my mother again. This time it was she who answered yes to the other side: "Love, I've come," said a little nervous. Then there was a further exchange of information on how the trip had gone and what she had done in the village.
Anyway, overall I'm proud of that trip, but if I had to repeat that I do not know if I could. Between one thing and another, it took about two hours longer than usual and yes, maybe in a mature way, but nothing I consider myself an accomplished driver, so if you do not mind the next time I put the car and fuel , but we drive you, okay, honey? Written by Sechat
0 comments:
Post a Comment