trial-run

Yesterday (Thursday, November 29, 2007) we made a trial-run to infamous Bugaboo Creek in deepest, darkest Henrietta on Jefferson Road.
The concept of being automotively-challenged is not something the average person can understand.
They just hop in the car and go; what I and most everyone else does.
But with Linda it’s different: “Do I change lanes yet? How do I butt in without hitting anyone? I can’t see; I can’t turn my head.”
“That guy is coming at me from the on-ramp. Do I slow down?” (“Keep going. We’ll pass well clear of him.”)
“Turn left; turn right; then left, then right. And the roads are roads I’ve never heard of. I’ll never be able to do this.”
“Which way are we going?” “East.” “How do you know that?” “The sun’s over there.”
And Jefferson Road in Henrietta is a tangled maelstrom: bloated Hummers juking-and-jiving with giant Chevy pickups driven by macho Dale Earnhardt wannabees.
And angry Grannys in white LeSabres blowing their horns at you.
“What was that all about? Did I do anything wrong?”
“She was mad at our ISP,” I say.
Bugaboo Creek is the location of this year’s annual Christmas get-together of some of Linda’s old Lawyers friends.
Last year — I don’t know if this is the same bunch — was a get-together at some restaurant north of Rochester, and I went along because it was a sit-down dinner, and woulda meant Linda driving back home in darkness. Ziggity-zag per written directions over strange (to her) roads at night is utterly impossible. I’m not about to make my wife try that — I also mow the lawn.
But this Bugaboo shindig is around noon-time, and “I know how to get to Jefferson Road.”
Bugaboo Creek is one of a continuous conga-line of national franchise food-outlets: Hooters (or is it “Hotties?”), cheek-to-jowl with Don Pablo’s Mexican Food Joint, Red Lobstah, Taco-Bell (BONG!), and Macaroni Heaven or something.
And then there is Starbuck’s in the old Wendy’s — “All I want is a cuppa coffee!”
Look carefully, and you’ll see the abandoned minimall with an active colonoscopy clinic, hard by the abandoned Chase Bank branch (“Don’t get locked in the vault”).
And everything seems to be on a “pad.” “Place your pad here!” “Pads for lease!”
Trial-runs are nothing new — nor is my going along so Linda doesn’t have to drive.
Last summer was a get-together for old Lawyer friends at nearby Powder Mills Park when an employee turned 60.
It was daytime, but ziggity-zag all over. So I went along.
A while ago was a charity work shindig at some home for the mentally-challenged, near Powder Mills Park. So I took Linda there and returned later to pick her up (after she called me using her cellphone).
“Okay, first goal is Jefferson Road.”
Jefferson Road is also the location of the main Rochester Post-Office (it’s no longer in the city); so Bugaboo Creek is an extension of the Post-Office journey.
(The Post-Office journey was also a trial-run; we had to trial-run it so she could get there herself [for training]. Like Bugaboo Creek, the Post-Office is on the wrong side of the road. A normal driver would just crank the left turn in the face of traffic, but not Linda. We have to engineer a way to get there either -1) without left-turns, and/or -2) left-turns with a dedicated arrow.
The Post-Office meant going about a mile further and then right into a shopping-plaza, where she could turn around and drive back out onto Jefferson Road (other direction) with a dedicated left-turn arrow.
Getting to Bugaboo Creek means a similar journey, except the shopping-plaza ain’t far enough, and we have to hope the turn onto Clay Road has a dedicated left-turn arrow. (Bugaboo Creek is inside the corner of Clay and Jefferson Roads.)
There is a dedicated left-turn arrow onto Clay Road, so we made the turn, thinking we might have to go all-the-way around the block.
But there’s a Denny’s in the other corner, so we turned right into that (Linda was driving), and could therefore access Bugaboo Creek by crossing Clay Road from Denny’s.
Slowly we navigated the Bugaboo Creek parking-lot. “At least it’s a big lot.” We passed the dedicated parking-slot for “Moose of the month,” hard by a large full-size fiberglass statue of Bullwinkle.
So I feel confident she could do this herself.
Years ago I got frustrated at her difficulty, thinking she should just “DEAL WIDIT!”
The last standard-shift car I got was the ‘83 GTI; it had a five-speed floor-shift.
We took it up-the-road from our house here in West Bloomfield, and Linda tried it.
Are you kidding? Utterly beyond-the-pale.
Linda has to get back-and-forth from her employer in a Rochester suburb about 25 miles from here — utterly outside taking a bus.
So I gave up. What’s the sense? On balance I consider it more important to accommodate her being automotively-challenged.
I noticed she could drive the giant E250, which was auto-tranny; so we got the so-called “faithful Hunda” with auto-tranny.
So we make trial-runs. SO WHAT? On balance I’d rather. It’ll be 40 years at the end of this month.

“Deepest, darkest Henrietta” is a rather effusive and obnoxious suburb south of Rochester.

“Linda” is my wife.

RE: “She was mad at our ISP..........” ISP equals Internet-Service-Provider; in our case RoadRunner via the cable. Last July my macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston visited, and set up a wireless Internet connection to my router. His Internet reception was spotty, so he loudly blamed our Internet-Service-Provider (ISP). Now anything untoward is due to my ISP.

For almost 35 years my wife worked at what began as “Lawyers Co-operative Publishing Company” in Rochester.

RE: “I also mow the lawn........” My macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston recently declared that his wife had mowed his huge lawn for the last time this year. So I said: “why not you?” (He’s always farming out mowing his lawn, so he can watch NASCAR. Now that his onliest son is away at college, he makes his wife mow it.)

RE: “or is it ‘Hotties?’” —Not long ago, my macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston admitted his onliest son at college was dating a “Baptist-hotty.” Things have probably changed, but I can’t make sense of “Baptist-hotty.”

RE: “Abandoned minimall with an active colonoscopy clinic........” —My macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston admitted his colonoscopy was performed in a minimall clinic, and was therefore superior to mine, which was performed in a hospital.

“DEAL WIDIT!” is what my macho, blowhard brother-from-Boston loudly says to anyone facing a difficult fait-accomplis.

The “‘83 GTI” was a 1983 Volkswagen Rabbit GTI bought brand-new, a hot-rod.

The “E250” was our 1979 Ford E250 Econoline van, one of the neatest vehicles we’ve ever owned. We drove it out west in 1987, and camped in it every night.

“The Faithful Hunda” is our 1989 Honda Civic All-Wheel-Drive station-wagon, by far the BEST car we ever owned, now departed. (Called a “Hunda” because that was how a fellow bus-driver at Transit [Regional-Transit-Service in Rochester, where I once worked], pronounced it.)

RE: “It’ll be 40 years at the end of this month......” Married 12/30/67.