As I was headed into my day job this morning, it began to rain.
It was a gentle shower, nothing close to the sorts of downpours we normally experience during the summer; just enough to wash away the mass of pollen that has descended upon us here in the southwest while making the driving just a little bit more interesting. The skies have been threatening such an event for a few days now, with amazing red-and-periwinkle sunrises hinting at what was to come; given how rare the occurrence tends to be in Arizona, it’s often a welcome change of pace — though it also forces me to remember how to turn on the windshield wipers in my car. The awful scraping nose they made on their first pass reminded me that given their lack of use, it would probably be wise to replace them before the true monsoon season hits later in July.
That very unique sound also — for some strange reason — sent me down a memory rabbit hole as I continued along the interstate. The pavement had darkened with the rain, buttressing a memory of my very first time driving in less-than-ideal conditions; it had been the occasion of my second two-hour outing with a driving instructor, part of the course I was taking in order to qualify for my permit at the ripe old age of fifteen.
My instructor was an amazing person: calm, methodical, patient. It probably didn’t hurt that his real job was as a firefighter in Portland; anyone capable of that sort of daily stress was more than cut out to handle teenagers who thought — mostly incorrectly — they knew what they were doing while behind the wheel.
Although those lessons are now more years than I care to admit behind me, I still hear his voice when I encounter certain situations out on the road. Turning on the wipers this morning was one of them, for his advice had always been to simultaneously enable the headlamps as well — years before it had become common practice (and the law) in many states. He also sagely warned that the first few minutes after the rain began to fall were always the most dangerous, for that was when the accumulated oils and other fluids left behind on the pavement tended to mix with the rain to make the surface its slickest. And he was the one to teach me the trick of turning on the air conditioning while running the defroster in order to clear the windshield faster; again, years before defrosters actually did that automatically.
Thanks to his efforts, I still feel like I am safe driver; I’ve brushed up on my defensive skills every now and then, mostly because driving in California more or less demands it. Still, the base education I received has stood me in good stead. At the time, it was a means to an end, but now, I can see it was another one of those subtle life-changing events that continues to affect me to this day.