by Jessica Kuzmier

     When you buy a vehicle, whether it's new or used, it's a good idea to break it in to get a feel for the vehicle. Those test drives don't really do much justice to an inaugural ride. If possible, an open road is heaven to have a getting-to-know-you session with your wheels. You can see how it handles without having to brake for jaywalkers constantly. It's like having quality alone time.

     That was what I had in mind when I took out my Chevy for its first drive. My loyal Hyundai, after twelve years, had finally gone to car heaven during the past winter. So the Chevy came and replaced it in mid-April, just in time for the beginning of the driving season. I couldn't wait to get behind it and head down the road. Having been used to one vehicle for so long, just to be driving a different one was an adventure in itself. But to me, the christening wouldn't be complete without highway speed. With miles of asphalt to choose from, I decided to go to my favorite fast food joint, just down the interstate.

     It doesn't sound like much of a destination, but where I live in rural New York, is nearly thirty miles away from me in either direction down the highway. What else would be a great way to rationalize a long drive? One has to feed oneself and stock up on greasy food for a weekend. So off I headed on the interstate, spouse and dog in tow. I couldn't wait to get the feel of the car driven in my hands, and have a whole open road for me to do it in.

     I'd been looking forward all winter for a drive like this one. And now, here it was; a drive into the long road ahead of me with nothing to obstruct me. Unlike the suburban drives I'd been accustomed to in my adolescence, I had moments where I had the highway to myself. It was sixty-five miles an hour all the way, until the end when I ran into road work running both directions on the highway, closing down a whole lane for at least ten miles. It was great to watch all the quaint towns, hills and farms dotted along the interstate whiz by me. Although the trees hadn't bloomed yet, there were enough pine trees to give it the feeling of a green forest. The snow was gone, and soon everything would be in bloom, the beginning of spring. A great metaphor for a first drive, though I'm not sure what symbolism the road work entailed-obstacles overcome?



     After getting the food, I drove back home on an alternative route, a state highway which serves a dual purpose as a service road. The scenery which had been more remote on the highway was more focused here. Several small towns with the obligatory gas stations, schools and corner churches requested that I slow down to thirty miles an hour. I passed by farms, long stretches of land that seemed to belong to no one in particular. Remodeled country homes, mostly saltbox and colonial style, with perfectly manicured acreage, resided near older homes with abandoned cars and other tools dotting their properties. Occasionally, farm tractors waddled in front of me. Along this road, they were likely to pull out and cross from one farm to another across the street, slowing down traffic. It was a mix of the city and the country, living together. Here, I learned the handling of the braking system, and the edge of the car as I passed through towns with cars parked along the side of the road.

     I returned to the highway once it was evident from the overpass that the work zone was over. It had just recently become Daylight Savings Time, so at seven o'clock, the road was still light. The sun was beginning to enter the blazing glory it celebrates before it says goodnight, but the road was curvy enough and the parallel hills large enough that for the most part that the sun's show did not obstruct driving. When it did on that rare occasion, it was like a beacon boring into you, too bold to ignore. It made it hard to forget the symbolism of another day ending, going into slumber. So protracted was its goodbye that it felt timeless, that I had always been driving into a sunset. I felt like I could continue on the open road forever this way.

     This meant to me that I'd reached an optimum comfort level with the vehicle. In my mind one part of me was planning all the drives that I would take in the future, while the other one was firmly in the present experiencing the feel of the road. Both were birthed by the sensation of timelessness; it was time for dreams, yet reality was nothing to be escaped from. Both existed at the same time, even as the sky darkened and I got closer to home. It was time for new beginnings.