I was a little (only a little) trepidatious about driving back here in Canada. Now, that’s partly because the kindest friend in the world has lent me her car for my first couple of months here, and I would hate to repay that kindness with a bent bumper. And because, on my second day back I was going to have to drive back into Mississauga in rush hour traffic at twilight in my sister’s big-ole truck to pick up Scout & her crate — a bit of baptism by fire. But another kind friend (with an even bigger big-ole truck) offered to drive for that errand. So, I was off the hook for that, at least.
Well, three days in and I don’t think I need have worried at all. It’s like riding a bike. All the muscle memory is still there — lane changes, advanced greens, even parallel parking on Main St was a doddle. Only two slight hitches: (1) I am used to UK speed limits, and when I saw the nice, broad Sixth Line heading straight through the farmland, I must admit I was doing 100km (60 mph and the National Speed Limit in Britain) before I saw the 60km (35 mph) signs. Oops. And (2) the gear shift on Lori’s car seems to be on the wrong side. Factory error, perhaps?
