A Man Without Wheels

I know all the reasons why I (Mark) don't drive. They're all practical. I could go on and on about being green, saving money, how hard it is to find parking, where would we even store a bicycle, etc., etc.

Blah, blah, blah... None of this can take away my feeling of loss. Why does being in command of a set of wheels mean so much to me? I thought it might be just the All-American Gotta-Have-A-Car thing,
but it's not. It seems to have more to do with wheels of any sort--not just a car.

I drooled over the motorcycles in Xinjiang, China. Even way out in the mountains, the locals ride the "iron horse" as much as the real horse. I found myself salivating over the sleek little mounts.

Here in Taiwan, the "iron horse" is more of a "plastic donkey." Thousands upon thousands of scooters line the sidewalks and whiz down the streets. (Ping's nephew, YuChi, calls them "flies." That's an even better description.) Still, maybe I could talk myself into getting one of those if it meant having wheels.

I hear my inner whiner saying: "Man, everyone has wheels! Even middle-aged grandmothers have scooters! The little kid down the street has a folding bike. How come I don't have one??"

Then I go back and remind myself of all the practical reasons why I don't own a car, or a motorcycle, or a bicycle. It doesn't help.

Where's my problem? We have the bus, right? We have the MRT. People generously offer rides when we're going to the same place. I have my own two feet, and I love walking. What's so different about wheels?

There are two things, for me. One is that I just love driving. I have driven thousands and thousands of miles behind the wheel, and ridden tens of thousands of miles as a motorcycle pilot. It's fun. It's a challenge sometimes. I miss it.

But there's something much deeper. It's about freedom and self-determination. It's about wandering wherever your fancy takes you and stopping when and where you want to stop. You don't have to see if the bus goes there; you just go. If you change your mind and want to go somewhere else, you head there instead.

When I sit in the driver's seat and turn the key, all that horsepower is just waiting to take me somewhere. I get to tell it when and where to go. If there's a road, we can go there. It feels very different from getting on the bus and lurching back to find an open seat.

As a kid, I rode my bicycle everywhere. I loved the independence of having my own wheels. I could go faster, farther, as long as my legs held out. When I got my driver's license, I realized I could drive anywhere the map could show me--and some places it couldn't--as long as I could afford the gas. And the car payment. And the insurance. And the registration. And the oil changes.

There's an old VW slogan: "On the road of life, there are passengers and there are drivers. Drivers wanted." I remembered that recently and felt an "ouch." But then I thought about it again.

Maybe I don't like some of the limitations, but I am driving on the road of my life. I am not a passenger. I take full responsibility for deciding to walk and take public transportation everywhere.

But I do still think about maybe someday having a bicycle again--if I could figure out where to put it--and I still smile fondly at the thought of a good, long road trip in a car.

Just not right now. Not just yet. My choice. I can choose differently later. That key is in my hand.