The Irish Road Less Traveled

Although you may overhear me referring to myself as a "world-traveler," a more accurate description would be "an enthusiastic traveler to limited European and domestic destinations."

My mother would say I'm a "bad traveler," which I resent, given the numerous occasions I have been her travel companion and that I may be credited with facilitating some of the more memorable experiences we've had on our trips together. Like the time we were in L.A. and I insisted we rent the white Mustang soft-top convertible from Hertz instead of the two-door compact hatchback, convincing my mother that we'd have a much more "authentically-Californian" time if we lowered the top and cruised down the Strip a couple of times.

What neither of us realized was that the rear windshield of the remote-controlled soft-top was actually glass, not plastic, causing it to implode with a crunch loud enough to alert the Hertz guys, who came running out to stare at us as we climbed from the vehicle, shaking glass dust from our hair. We hadn't even made it out of the rental car parking lot.

Or the time we visited our family in County Cork, Ireland, and spent an afternoon driving around the countryside and exploring a few villages. We had a U2 CD playing in our rental car, this time a nondescript navy blue sedan with an exterior we would get so encrusted in mud it required a daily soaking with a power washer for a week. We were headed east along the Coast Road, which is the narrower, single-lane alternative to the highway, or "dual carriageway" as it's called. Although your chances of getting lost, having a head-on collision with another motorist, or finding yourself stuck behind an arthritic lorry jammed full of sugar beets or a tractor being driven by what appears to be an aging Hobbit, are significantly increased by choosing the secondary roads, they are undeniably more scenic. Riskier, but also more interesting; for us, this was no contest.

We managed to keep the car on the road as we followed the many random twists and turns, catching glimpses of the sunset over the Irish Sea through breaks in the high hedges that line all of the roads (or fields, depending how you look at it) in Ireland. I remember coming up to one particular cross that bore no signs or indications as to where we were, nor where we were headed.

My mother took a left. Now we were on an even narrower road with hedge branches scraping and squealing along the sides of the car as we passed. We were on a "boreen", the term used for the roughest, skinniest, and most rural roads. The boreens almost always sport a strip of fluorescent green grass growing, like a Mohawk, straight down the middle. It seemed to continue forever. We were in complete darkness by then because without the presence of streetlights, Ireland is a pretty dark place.

Mom had flipped both headlights and floodlights on, andwe had to slow down to avoid running over the rabbits that constantly lept from the hedges and hopped in front of the car for a few moments before bouncing back into the hedges again. It's a good thing those rabbits kept my mother's foot from getting too heavy on the gas, because all of a sudden the view ahead changed; the blackness opened up and the hedge on either side of the car abruptly stopped.

I saw a black sky full of stars above. Then my mother shrieked just as I looked down at a ridge of white foam rushing at us, emerging from the darkness into the beam of our headlights. I wasn't sure if the foam was still approaching us, fast, or if we were still driving towards it, but I yelled, "What are you doing? Stop, stop!" She had stopped.

The foam had been followed by a few inches of seawater, which was directly in front, under, around, and behind us. My mother looked at me, stunned. "You dove us into the ocean! You drove us into the ocean!" I yelled, outraged and shocked. Then I started laughing. She remained frozen for another second, and then started grappling with the gearshift, frantically trying to get us into reverse and out of the water before the next wave rushed in.

If you ask me, those suicidal rabbits spared us the expense and embarrassment of having to return our rental car in slightly worse condition than when we drove away with it. And we learned a valuable lesson, which applied not only to driving in Ireland: expect to be surprised.