Aug 14, 2018 3 min read

I thought I was going to die. Plain and simple, I thought it was the end: My daughter was driving me around Pittsburgh.

She has had a rough summer, having broken two fingers in a farming accident along with having a months-long allergic reaction to some unknown object that has resulted in an itchy rash from head to toe. We were headed to yet another doctor, this time in Pittsburgh, for yet another consultation and yet another treatment that might help her heal.

Possibly the highlight of her mostly miserable summer was earning her driving permit. She has been driving me everywhere since, even taking me to Cranberry to interview a farmer for a story I had been assigned elsewhere. She is a pretty good driver, typically driving below the speed limit and braking plenty in advance of other cars. She has things to work on, as do most new drivers (and even plenty of well-seasoned, decades-long license holders) but overall, I am comfortable with her behind the wheel.

Except in Pittsburgh. But if I’m being honest, I’m comfortable with nobody’s driving in Pittsburgh. There are too many turns too close to one another. There are too many places where 10 lanes become three in a matter of a quarter mile. There are too many times that the ramp you’re on and the ramp you need to be on are separated by several lanes of traffic and you have mere moments to cross them or take a miles-long detour around the city.

Add in the fact that my GPS refuses to take me on any highway and instead finds the most convoluted way through neighborhoods and down alleys. And that in some towns on the way to the city, the rules for parking and driving change depending on the time of day. (Yes, Mt. Lebanon, I’m giving you a shout-out here!)

I pumped my imaginary brake more in this one-hour trip than I have had to in all of the times I’ve ridden with her combined. I gripped the door handle and pressed myself into the seat, willing myself to melt into oblivion.

I may have even yelped a few times. I don’t even understand Pittsburgh traffic enough to have been able to help her anticipate problems.

We took two wrong turns, missed one exit ramp, went through an alley where the street was brick, nearly hit a parked car, and got stuck in some tunnels. We arrived at the doctor’s office – 25 minutes late – and then a short time later, we had to do it all again.

I drove home at my daughter’s request. I’m glad for it, though, as I am not sure I would have survived the return trip with her driving. I barely survived it with my own. I was happy to return to my rural community where you must drive 12 miles to even see a stop light.

My kid can drive me all day around there.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.