Retirement is not without Hassles: Drinking and Driving #103

At one point in my life, drinking and driving were arguably a tolerable, even acceptable, combination. Keep in mind that I am of retirement age!  I remember stories of early “Indy 500” races where a pit stop might involve more than just milk.  I also remember, as a teenager, scoring a six-pack and driving the back roads of lower Michigan with the top down on a sunny afternoon, or cruising Main Street with a pack of cigarettes and a flask.  The only thing really illegal about my actions was the fact that I was underage to drink.

My dad bought a 1964 Mustang convertible that I borrowed to pass my driver’s test at age 16.  It was just before drugs made their way into the high schools and experimentation with alcohol was a ritual of growing up.  Unfortunately, too many times the lethal combination of drinking and driving effected the lives of young people and fortunately awareness and laws changed.   It’s a serious, criminal offense.

Convertibles, on the other hand, have always been a part of my life, from that very first taste of having the “top down.”  My wife and I each currently own a convertible, not necessarily compatible with the Oregon weather.  We bought them in Texas, and got a lot of good use out of them there.  It’s rare when we get to put the “top down” here.  However, the last couple weeks have been the exception.

The dogs also enjoy “top down” weather, and with their harnesses attached, we can take them out for a ride to “blow the stink off.”  If the top isn’t down, they love to stick their heads out the window and feel the force of the wind in their furry faces.  We had the opportunity to drive to the Coast this past weekend.  It was 90 degrees in Portland, so we left with the “top down.”  By the time we reached the peak of the coastal mountains at about 1600 feet, the temperature began to plummet.  My wife was begging me to put the “top up” as the thermometer showed 65 degrees and falling.  I reluctantly obliged, preferring to turn the heat up instead.

As I was driving, the words “top down, bottoms up” crossed my mind, and I wanted to write a silly poem about it.  In fact, I couldn’t get those words out of my head, but it didn’t seem like an appropriate combination for modern consumption.  DUI is now a top-of-mind topic, and certainly not a humorous topic.  I made a compromise, and below is what I came up with, envisioning a group of guys and their dog out for a “Road Trip” with a designated driver.

I do have to admit that when I think of “bottoms up,” it’s not all about drinking.  I remember cruising down Main Street in my Dad’s other car, a Ford Country Squire station wagon. There was no alcohol involved, but lots of immaturity.  I was driving and had access to the power switch that controlled the rear window.  It was truly the “rear” window that night, as we covered the glass with aluminum foil to block the view inside.  The foil was thin enough that it didn’t effect the operation of the window as it lowered.  Three of my friends lined up in the back on their knees and pulled down their pants, showing clearly that the  “moons” were exposed that night. After a couple of drive-by “moonings,” we came to our senses and split to somehow avoid prosecution for public exposure.  The next morning, however, as my Dad heated up the car to go to church, you could clearly see the outline of three butt-prints in the foggy rear window.  Here’s to “bottoms up!”

Road Trip

Top Down,

Bottoms up.

Summer breeze,

Happy pup.

 .

One dog,

Three guys.

Long drive,

Who buys?

 .

Beer buzz,

Green light.

Sun Shines,

All’s right!

 .

Open road,

Not a care.

Glass of wine?

Fresh air.

 .

You drive,

I’ll drink.

He’s drunk,

You think?

 .

Bottoms Up,

Whisky Shot.

Top Down,

Hits the spot.

 .

Empty glass?

I’ll pour.

Where to?

Liquor store.

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