First Pancake

The first day of a long journey is not unlike the first pancake. You know the one: scorched black outside, raw on the inside, the product of dropping a dollop batter before the pan’s properly heated up. Because you just can’t wait. And pans take so long.

Similarly, I skid down my driveway in May without first figuring out how to work all the thingamabobs on my new car. I can’t figure out how to make Ms. Bossypants, the Google directions queen, tell me out loud where to go. Without her, I’m lost. As a result, I have to hold my phone in my hand for most of the first leg, reading the directions. Luckily, I’m driving mostly country roads, with few turns and no one behind me. I mean, literally no one for most of the drive. Or ahead of me either. I don’t know whether this vanishing is Covid-caused or the natural order of byways. Which is unfortunate, because I need practice using the amber light that appears in my side mirrors when a car gets in my blind spot. Over many years of jalopy driving, I’ve developed the habit of always twisting my neck around to check for cars beside or behind me. Rookie move, I know. It’s a new age, and I’ve got a close-to-new, fancier-than-a-Yaris now.

In truth, I don’t stop this crazed craning until my 12th day on the road. Okay, the real truth: I still check about half the time.

As for the radio, forget it. Even though a selling point on this car was a free 3-month subscription to Sirius satellite radio, by the time I figure out how to run the GPS through the car speakers, I’ll be damned if I’ll blow it by turning on the radio. But I’m fine without music, I tell myself. Who needs it? I’ve got a rich inner life.