May the Road Rise to Meet You and Grow Wider so You Won’t Get Scratched by Madeline C. Lanshe
You know when air is hissing out of
the tire of your rental car in the remote countryside of Ireland, you messed up. The question is: how badly? “The roads in Ireland are tiny!” I remember my mom ranting about this after she and two of my sisters went there for the Irish dance nationals in 2010. The idea of driving on the opposite side of the road seemed much scarier to me than narrow roads. I’ve always laughed about how big of a deal my mom made it seem. The Irish roads humbled me. When you’ve been Irish dancing since the age of five, it is almost necessary, a rite of passage, to visit the vibrant, green island of Ireland. I hadn’t qualified for Nationals when my other sisters had, so my visit came later, when I was 27, six years out of the competing world. My friend, Hannah (also an avid traveler), was planning to spend one week in Ireland followed by one week in Scotland. I asked if I could tag along. At the Dublin airport, we picked up our first rental car: a cute little red Kia. Hannah was the primary driver, as we were insured under her credit card, and the nicest rental car people I’ve ever met asked in their magical Irish accents if I wanted to be a secondary driver for an extra 9 euros. With all the driving we’d be doing, it was an easy decision, though I was nervous to drive on the left side of the road.
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Hannah took the first shift, driving us away from the Dublin Airport on an American-sized highway. Our first stop was the Blarney Castle. We walked the grounds, kissed the Blarney Stone, and continued to Cork and the colorful town of Kinsale. On day three of seven, I told Hannah I could take a turn. I was surprised by how easy it was to switch to the other side. My brain got comfortable quickly with making tight left turns and wide rights. I’d been needlessly worrying for years. It was a cinch. The longer I drove, the smaller the roads became. They were “two-way,” but barely big enough for one vehicle. If someone was coming towards you, one of you had to get over on the side and let them squeeze by. This became an annoying rhythm, the stopping and going and holding my breath as we passed other cars. We parked at a beach on the Ring of Kerry. After skipping stones and taking photos, we went back to the car. A tiny lane led down to the parking lot, and as I drove us up, a terrible screeching sound along the passenger side filled our ears. My wide eyes met Hannah’s before I put the car in park. My heart, which was already racing, dropped to my feet when I stepped out and heard air hissing out of the back left tire. The hub cap was halfway peeled off, and the entire side of the car was scraped. I’d driven too close to a small, sharpedged fence on the side of the road.
