Monday through Friday, I drive 37 miles between the tidy city streets of downtown Frankfort, to the industrial corridor of Traverse City, Michigan. Home to work and then back again. Depending on the weather, the time of year, and the time of day, I can make the trek in about 40 minutes, and/or 90. It all depends.
In December, I found the trip was taking 75, consistently. Everyone was driving about 40 miles an hour as we were pounded, day after day with a steady stream of white, puffy snowflakes. During this seemingly less than tolerable portion of my commuter’s history, I found listening to our local public radio station, IPR, practicing Spanish, and listening to a couple of holiday gifts (mixed cd’s) got me through it all.
I haven’t always been a car-driving commuter. I’ve had the luxury (and general proximity) of such frivolities as apartment-above-the-garage convenience (during the stint I was a nanny in New York), or the ‘three doors away’ convenience of an artsy loft in the neighborhood of the studio I worked at for three years. Another time, I chose to purchase a house that was not only on the main drag, close to the highway, but less than three miles from my office and on a main bus route. Normally, ‘work’ is nearby and the option to ride my bike, walk, or roller blade has been the plan of attack. BUT, change is inevitable.
I’ve been driving a 1997 Chevrolet Cavalier since January of 1997. “Stella” as she is named, because of her general demeanor and car-riding charisma, has gotten me from here to there, forever.
She kicks more ass than I can count.
