I’m A Lifetime Member of the “White Knuckle” Brigade

I joined when I was 14.

I remember the exact moment I joined. It was a Sunday and our family — Mum, Dad and us four kids — were out for a Sunday drive. It’s what we did back in the 60s when normal people could afford petrol.

We had driven up Hervey’s Range in Townsville’s hinterland. Dad was a pretty good driver so I wasn’t worried until he pretended to drive over a cliff. My brothers and sisters were all prepared to die with him but I flew over whoever was sitting near the window, yanked the door open and flew out of the car.

I landed in the dirt — bulldust — and immediately started crying. My brothers and sister thought it was hilarious. When I hobbled over to look at the “cliff”, it was actually a dirt track made by cattle going down the mountain. Still, if we’d gone over the edge it would not have been pretty — no seat belts in those days. I never forgave my father for that.

When I was 17, I learned to drive. I stayed well away from edges of any sort and refused to drive on wharves or jetties — too many edges. I didn’t enjoy being a passenger and would often be in the passenger seat hanging on tightly while planting my feet on the imaginary brake on the floor.

Then I married and my husband did most of the driving when we went out as a family. One day, when my sister and her husband were visiting, we went on a scenic drive to the harbour showing them the sights. My husband crazily drove right to the end of the wharf before hitting the brakes. I hated him for doing that, and he lost all respect from my sister and brother-in-law too. They did not think it was funny at all. I never forgave him for that.

So I’ve never liked being driven anywhere by anyone but sometimes I don’t have a choice. You might think I’m a scaredy cat but I’ve done things others haven’t done. I travelled to Russia on my own not knowing the language — I know — pure stupidity! I didn’t even learn the Cyrillic alphabet. So maybe more stupid than brave. I’ve swum with sharks and barracuda and sea snakes — I’m confident in the water so I’m not scared of everything but I am terrified of driving off a cliff or a bridge or a mountain. Those early traumatic experiences have obviously stayed with me all through my adult life.

Twenty years ago, we went white-water rafting on the Nymboida River with some friends. The white-water rafting was fun even though I tore my rotator cuff, but the drive up the mountain was terrifying. I was sitting directly behind the driver in a minivan who was taking those hairpin curves at a crazy speed. I kept whispering in his ear while holding on to the back of his seat, “Please slow down.” It wasn’t until I burped and said, “ Oh god, I’m going to be sick” that he slowed down enough for me to calm down. That ride up the mountain was far, far worse than riding the rapids down!

Nine years ago, my daughters and I hired a motorhome to tour the South Island of New Zealand and to spot Aurora Australis — the Southern Lights.

From Lake Tekapo, we decided we’d like to see the Mt John Observatory — on the top of Mt John — of course. We were picked up by a minibus and as soon as I was seated, I realised there wasn’t enough space for me to sit with my legs straight in front of me so I had to sit skew-whiff. I thought I’ll be ok — it wasn’t far to the top.

Then the driver announces he’ll be turning all the lights off — the headlights and the park lights — as we have to travel to the top of the mountain in complete darkness. I thought he was joking and even suppressed a giggle. But no — he was deadly serious. We drove all the way to the top blind. I don’t think my eyes have ever been opened so wide trying to peer into the blackness in front of me. My body completely stiffened. I was terrified we were going to go over the edge!

Given my uncomfortable position to start with, as soon as I tumbled out of the van, I was in agony. Even with the arctic jackets and gloves we were given, it was fucking freezing. It was July — winter in the southern hemisphere. I tried to enjoy the night sky as much as possible — it was pretty awesome — but we didn’t get to see any sign of an aurora that night. And then we had to go down again — in the dark!

Once when my daughter was driving up to the top of Ancient Thera (365 m high) on Santorini with any number of hairpin curves, I decided I’d rather walk down than face the drive down those curves — and I did. No one could believe I walked!

My latest white knuckle incident happened in Morocco when my daughter was driving on a rural road with no guard rails. She pulled over very close to the edge of a cliff to take a photo. I didn’t say anything — probably just an audible intake of breath but she let fly. She knows how I hate going close to the edge. She was insulted that I didn’t trust her driving. ( see title photo)

She yelled at me, “Do you _ think I’m going to _ drive off the _ cliff?” ( lots of expletives here)

Me, whimpering, “No, but, you never know if the brakes will fail….”

Here’s James Baxter’s story of a few bus trips I’m glad I wasn’t on! It’s what started me thinking about why I hate travelling by bus or van or anything else where I’m not the driver.