Vehicular Revolutions

Take 2 on My Vehicular Revolution:

Yeah, I tried this once before. The rationale behind it is that while driving can be fun, it can also be boring. And outside of having interesting passengers, good tunes on the radio, or the never-ending quest to perfect in-car climate control, driving can also be tedious and boring. When I first became a motorist, I did so in the Garden State Warrior, a ’90 Volvo that was business in the front, and well, business also in the back. It wasn’t a party vehicle, it drove to places I needed it to. It wasn’t fawned over by other high school students – it did not have that laidback feel of “cool.”

In other words, it wasn’t a Jeep.

Joe Brescia drove a Jeep, and he made it look cool. (Strike that, the Jeep made Joe Brescia look cool. Fixed,) And without knowing it, Joe Brescia entered an unwritten brotherhood of cool. Jeep Drivers (Wranglers, not Grand Cherokeers) maintained a laidback fraternity of people who got from Point A to Point B in style. However, they did so without pledging allegiance to any series of Greek letters, secret handshakes, or keg-infested houses. Their acknowledgement was simple. Anytime one Jeep passed another Jeep, their respective drivers would wave. It was their simple way of saying, “Hey man, I’ve got your back, even if our vehicles lack roofs or doors.”

Why not Volvos?

For a good year of high school, I incessantly tried to become the initial pledge class to a similar Volvo Brotherhood. Everytime I passed a Swedish tank, I would wave. Sure, the first time one of my Shermanian bretheren encountered me, they’d be a bit confused, but I was sure they’d eventually come around. However, I soon found that the lack of convertability of my car strongly hindered my ability to wave in all meteorological conditions, and my desire to be a Volvo Revolutionary was quelled. Sure, there was that one time on Robin Hood Drive that a fellow Tanker DID wave back, but that could have been a fluke. While this revolution showed initiative, it goes down in my history as nothing more than a building block.

That was Take 1.

Take 2 occurred this morning, and reflecting, my motives remain bizarre. 260 days a year, I drive the same 9 miles through downtown Vienna to work. Sure, it’s given me a few good angles for the Funny (let’s single out this, this, and this as Exhibits A-C), but it’s still as boring as According to Jim. Maybe it was Clara being especially cute this morning. Maybe it was the fact I actually got up early enough to make my lunch before I left the house. Maybe it’s Casual Friday, and I’m wearing jeans. Who really knows, one thing is clear – I was in a good mood, and willing to drive “outside the box.”

(Not literally. My God, that would be a disaster.)

The catalyst to all of this? Flipping stations during a commercial break for both Elliott and the Junkies, I happened across the classic rock station.

“I Wanna Rock!”

Yes, Twisted Sister’s ode to rock, made recently relevant thanks to Road Trip and some rental car commercial, was blaring over the airwaves and I was taken aback. Normally I happen across this spot on the dial to find some crap from Foreigner or the ‘Wagon.. But today was different. And to show how it was different, I did the least logical thing possible.

I opened the sun roof and threw up my rock hand.

For the next 2 miles.

With an average speed of about 19 mph, I rocked my way up Route 123, long after Twisted Sister had finished rocking. I rocked my way through the traffic report, that annoying Jerry’s Subs commercial, and anything else that crossed my audio path. My hand to the sky, motionless, I stared straight ahead throught my shades to garner the reaction of my vehicular comrades.

They, too, wanted to rock.

While I garnered a collection of odd stares, heads shaking, and laughs from pedestrians, those in the motor brigade knew it was Friday and it was time to rock. Over the parade route of rock, I got four other rock hands in return. As I pulled into the parking garage, this ultimately meant little.

Except that my commute rocked harder than yours.