Driven forward

It was late 1995; I was newly arrived in New Zealand, settling in to a new job, a new home and new relationship. The last thing I wanted to worry about was driving on the other side of the road.

And so I didn’t.

The idea of driving on the left side of the road was daunting. Okay, it scared the hell out of me. The longer I was a passenger, the less scary it became, but not enough that I was ready to take care of things.

In early 1996, my American licence expired, meaning I couldn’t drive legally. Just another reason to avoid it. However, relying on other people became as tiresome for me as it did for the people I relied on.

The thing about procrastination is that sooner or later action becomes forced. For me, that came when an impending law change would mean new, stricter rules for obtaining a driver licence. So, finally, I began the process.

I bought a copy of the Road Code, wrote questions onto little cards, the answers on the back, and tested myself over and over and over again. It was the first time in more than a decade that I’d studied for an exam. I passed it and got my learner’s permit, the first step.

Because I was over 25, I could immediately sign up for my practical test (what we used to call, somewhat prosaically, the “behind-the-wheel test” in Illinois). I could skip over the restricted license and go for a full licence.

On test day, the examiner looked at my paperwork, up at me, at the paperwork again, then at me again.

“You’ve driven before,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” I answered, a little embarrassed. “My US licence expired, so I had to start over.”

The examiner shrugged, smiled a little, and went through the vehicle safety check. We headed onto the road and he gave me a few tasks to complete. Most of the time, we simply chatted which, of course, is part of the exam—to see how relaxed the driver is and how attentive/easily distracted. I passed. This was April of 1999, about three and a half years after I arrived. Yeah, I know, shame on me for waiting so long.

Because the law hadn’t yet changed, I received a paper “lifetime licence,” so-called because it didn’t expire and didn’t need to be renewed until the end of the month I’ll turn 71. When the new law took effect, each driver had to change to a photo driver licence on their next birthday, and I did—but not before taking my paper NZ licence with me on holiday in America, where everyone I showed it to was amused and interested.

It turned out that driving on the other side of the road was far easier than I thought, though it took several years for me to actually get used to it. I did, though.