Driving Mr. McDermott (IV. Parallel Parking, part 2)

I joined Walter early one Saturday morning to get in a few hours of parking practice before the storm ravaging the Eastern seaboard reached north Jersey. To avoid the high winds certain to blow along the harbor at Liberty State Park, we drove to the west side of Jersey City to a fine urban park named after a fine president: Lincoln. Passing fields of softball, baseball, and even cricket players, we found a corner suitable for parking. However, the site along the Hackensack River (soon to be a redeveloped wetland), was a windy as any in the city. Our barrels were immediately blown over, but Walter scoured the park and managed find two rocks to hold them firm and fast. But possibility remained: would I knock them over with an errant bumper?   

As it turns out, I may actually be getting the hang of this parking thing. Using two hands on the wheel certainly helped, but I still put myself into to situations where I needed to make small adjustments--and to actually think through them. Very little about driving comes to me as if second nature; yes, I am more familiar with operating an automobile than I ever have been, but I only do so a couple hours every week. And I wouldn't say I'm comfortable, either. Actually, I worry about being too comfortable and thus becoming less observant and cautious behind the wheel. I feel that I need to be nervous to drive well, but this notion will surely diminish with time and further experience.  

And speaking of harrowing/formative experiences whilst driving, the rains eventually arrived at Lincoln Park, so Walter and I set on a brief adventure to Union City in search of a gas station. Along the way, I navigated an incredibly awkward 10-way interchange, then drove over a faux-median after I nearly missed our exit. Of course this exit brought me to a street that wouldn't be out of place in San Fransisco (and by that I mean a steep hill, not Haight-Ashbury or a hip gay neighborhood). Finally we entered the gas station, whereupon I learned that not only does New Jersey have some of the lowest gas prices in the country, but according to state law, I cannot pump my own gas. What I relief, considering I don't know how to do that and am more than willing to entrust that hazardous deed to a trained professional (much as I would trust a professional to park my stroller, or direct me to the nearest lavatory.) I then guided us down a narrow and crowded street back to the JC, driving uncomfortably close to parked cars for poor Walter. And when I pulled into Concord Street what did I find? The same parking spot as last week. And as the drizzle intensified, I backed the ass of this little car neatly into a spot that surely could have fit two. See, I'm learning something.