It was with much trepidation I climbed into the driver’s seat.  Memories of painfulness while learning to drive stick-shift flooded through me.  Memories of Kevin in the backseat, sternly told not to say anything, as I took ten minutes to get out of the driveway.   Since then I’ve spent hours driving stick-shift, and am a firm believer that driving an automatic is boring.

But it had been over seven months since I last drove.  And seven months is almost ten percent of the time I have had my license.  So as I put the pickup into gear and pulled onto the road I wondered how this would work.

It was a piece of cake.  Yes, my left hand had to get into the rhythm of shifting.   And I know I was hugging the edge of the road too much.  But I successfully dodged all pedestrians, sheep, goats, bicyclists, large buses, chickens, and motorcyclists that thronged the road.

The test drive was lovely.  And as I drove back to Steve’s house I let out a whoop of delight.  I was driving again!

The following day Ana, Margaret, and I headed for Mueda for a weekend of relaxation (hours spent reading in the hammock, enjoying the cool breeze, and playing the keyboard were amazing!).  I was driving.

As we passed mud houses, fields of corn (local crunchy corn, not Oregon sweet corn), small children, and the always present goats there was a marvelous feeling of being on the road again.  A feeling of freedom that just hadn’t been there as I rode my bicycle around Mocimboa.

A feeling of freedom that might also have had to do with the fact that I had no idea of the conversion from kilometers to miles.  No idea if I was speeding along at 45 miles an hour or 70 miles an hour.  (Yes, I did find the conversion later.  Apparently I drove most of the trip between 50 and 65 miles an hour.)

But no matter what that feeling of freedom was due to, it was simply fantastic to have the steering wheel in my hand again!