Suited up with nowhere in mind, I hit some local favorite stretches for a short loop on a chilly afternoon. Days before Thanksgiving, traffic was sparse. I was mindful of cold tires and wet leaves while getting in a good lean on what could’ve been the last comfortable weather for months.

I chased County Routes for miles entering vaguely familiar territory. “I think this comes out here .. or somewhere.” The carving and climbing became upright burbling as I slowed into a town I hadn’t cruised in years. I turned right. Immediately recognized the backroad alternative to the rush hour madness from my High School commute.

It’s where I crashed my father’s 5 speed diesel VW Golf on my Learner’s Permit one morning. The right rear tire was low and as the road bent left, the rubber rolled under and the sooty hatchback fishtailed when the rim hit the pavement. I wasn’t experienced enough to pull out of it, over-corrected and ditched it – running the right front wheel into the end of a concrete pipe under a driveway. Brutal, finishing damage. He told the cops he was driving.

I’m grateful to live not too far away from where these moments occurred. It was great to revisit the roads paved with such memories. They highlight how much I’ve learned and grown. Leaving town for home, I was filled with holiday spirit, thankful for my life experiences, feeling a renewed and appreciated relief when my father protected me from the cops that day. I owe it to him to survive him well.