Nature vs. Nurture

When traveling with my wife in a motor vehicle, it is with great hesitation that I am a willing occupant of the passenger side due to her inclination of applying heavy doses of gas pedal in any and all situations that ordinarily might require a bit more…finese…let’s say. Occasionally finding myself on the side without the steering wheel, I close my eyes, go to a happy place, and remind myself that while today may be the day that I die in a fiery ball of crumpled metal and burning gasoline, it is all a part of Gods cosmic plan so I might as well enjoy what time I have left. Or I just  hysterically harangue her about tail gating, or weaving in and out of traffic like an Olympic bob sledder while she simultaneously texts and applies her makeup in the rear view mirror. For me the issue of nature vs. nurture is a settled one in the context of her driving habits. As evidence I submit a video of her late father practicing his profession on Lake Tahoe in 1962, two years before expiring in a fiery crash of his own.

If someday the posts on this blog suddenly stop without warning, you’ll know what happened.

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5 responses to “Nature vs. Nurture

  1. I know what you mean. I often referred to my second wife, who had a habit of taking out and riding large motorcycles and then transferring those skills directly to the automobile, as “Princess Leadfoot.”

  2. She has an interesting technique at cross streets of pulling dirictly into the path of an oncoming car, always approaching from the passenger side, and commenting upon my protestations “They have brakes, they’ll stop”. If you have a morning prayer routine, I would appreciate being added to it.

  3. If I could have choosen a gear head heritage from which to ascend (mine was motorcycles, obviously), unlimited hydros would be a Top 3 pick, no doubt.

    Those guys were certifiable. Like, 100% coo-coo. Giant brass stones. Larger than life. Everything you could imagine a person to be that stuck a Rolls Royce Merlin v-12 in a three point hydro, mashed the throttle to the woodwork, and called it fun.

    Muncey comes to mind, and the old Miss Atlas Van Lines.

    I grew up watching Hanauer, Kropfield, and Villiwock.

    I was always taken by poor old Miss Madison. A boat owned by an entire city in Indiana. It don’t get much more grass roots than that.

    Suck it up, homes. It’s in her blood.

  4. I grew up idolizing those guys back before there were any sports teams in Seattle. At ten years old me and my pals would sneak into the pits and gather autographs and decals and such. It was such a garage sport back in the day. Like you said, they found those old 3,000 hp Rolls Merlins , bolted them to a 30 foot boat shaped like a flat rock, then floored it and hung on for all they were worth. Crazy doesn’t begin to describe what they were doing.

    It’s in her blood alright. Muncey is (was) her godfather and best buddies with her dad. A couple of guys with mad cases of short man syndrome! Stacked end to end they were barely over ten feet but didn’t seem to be afraid of much. To hear the wife’s mother tell it, they were drinking, carousing SOB’s who barely squeezed in a little racing between partying and if they hadn’t been killed racing. they probably would have eventually been shot by jealous husbands and boyfriends.

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