In his book "Against the Gods. The Remarkable story of risk," Peter L. Bernstein points out that not everyone measures risk the same. While flying in a thunderstorm, some people will grasp the chairs with all their might while others will blissfully read the newspaper as the storm batters the aircraft.
I'm generally of the reading variety; however, I joined the white-knuckle crowd on today's flight. The trip started a little over an hour ago as my lovely wife completed a successful simulation ride in which she received top-notch instruction on her current riding issues with her horse.
Fueled by adrenaline, the pilot for the next leg of our trip climbs behind the wheel of her 1/2 ton, 4x4 wheel drive Dodge Ram. The flight I mentioned above is symbolic as Linda sits on the edge of her seat, excited as she explains everything she learned from the previous session while looking for every opportunity to pass a slower car on the twisting turns of Logan Canyon.
The detail that hasn't entirely soaked into my lovely speed demon's head is that every car is slower than she is trying to drive. I comment that we are in no hurry, and she responds, "I hate being in second place." Yes, there exists the women I know and love in full-on competition mode. It was probably a mistake on my part; however, I mentioned that she isn't second, but seventh if you count the cars, eighth if you include the boat pulled by the truck in front of us.
Hours later, we are flying the back roads of Wyoming. The wheels barely touching the tops of the bumps in front of us. The bottom of the spot is colored black with the weight of heavy trucks leaving rubber on the road as they bound across the same bumps, undoubtedly at a much slower pace.
Several years ago, I read about a Darwin Award winner who had strapped a jet engine to his car. The wreck was reported by a fellow driver who found the burning wreckage on the neighboring hillside and assumed it was an airplane crash. While investigating the impact, authorities could backtrack to the car's starting point. When it started, the jet engine had burned the asphalt directly behind the vehicle. Finally, a location was found where the individual attempted to put on the brakes; the resulting divot then launched the vehicle airborne and into the hillside.
Each colored bump in the road reminded me of the story, and I grew deeply concerned about my genes being removed from the gene pool. But, frankly, I have nothing to worry about as I have already passed on my genes, and we are currently on our way to see the proof of that successful transition to another generation.
My wife is an outstanding driver, but we have diverged dramatically in our driving over the years. I grew up with muscle cars, owning a Mustang Mach 1 in high school. I thought nothing of driving at night from Logan, UT, where I was attending college, to my home in Southern Utah with the speedometer pegged in the high 90s. A couple of years ago, selling my Corvette in favor of a four-wheel-drive jeep ended my love affair with sports cars. The jeep could get me deeper into the mountains to hike or up snow-swept roads to ski.
As I've gotten older and learned to appreciate how difficult it is to earn a dollar, I've slowed down, not wanting to risk the price of a speeding ticket. And as drivers have become more aggressive around me, I consciously use blinkers to ensure those around me have plenty of warning. I understand my use of blinkers while driving puts me in the minority of drivers in this regard; however, it is clear I have become a more defensive driver as I have aged. My lovely wife, however, has not. She has joined the hotdogging throng of carefree drivers as we barrel along the two-lane road.
Despite blind hills, turns, bumps, and wildlife, she flies along, unaware or indifferent to my white-knuckle grip on everything around me. As we pull into the hotel parking lot, on time and in one piece, I wonder if I had just won the lottery or if I have turned into that guy, you know, the old guy who is afraid of his own shadow? Maybe it is time for a bit of introspection; however, with the number of dead animals I witnessed along the road, I can't help but feel a little like a lottery winner.