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.

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.

Panic was setting in, and despite the cold weather, I could feel the sweat of dread on my body. Neither of us having any idea of what to do, I kicked in the hub cap, hoping somehow that would help. It was at this moment, of course, that another car pulled behind us, trying to leave the parking lot. We were forced to get back in the car, and I was stuck trying to maneuver it away from the fence without further damage. It scraped again, making me clench my teeth. I drove a few feet and put it in park. The car behind us turned onto the road, not bothering to stop and ask if we needed help. I like to think they were also tourists, because my opinion of the Irish people is too starry-eyed for the alternative to be true.

After checking to see if there was a spare tire in the trunk (there wasn’t), Hannah and I were at a loss. There were no garages or car shops within hours of us. We had no idea who to call for help, and the reception was spotty at best. We were about two hours from our Airbnb, so we decided to try our luck, hoping the tire didn’t die on us along the way. The air had stopped leaking out, it seemed, and the tire wasn’t flat. Yet.

I could tell Hannah was upset with me, but she didn’t say anything, neither to rebuke nor comfort me. That almost made it worse. She did ask if I wanted her to drive. I told her no. It had been a mistake, an unfortunate lapse in attention. I got back in the driver’s seat and we continued.

No music, audiobooks, or conversation filled the silence. I followed the GPS, glancing at all of my mirrors several times each minute to make sure I wasn’t too close to either edge of the road. The sun began to set, and exhaustion settled in. My eyes were so heavy I was shaking my head to try to stay awake. Still, I felt I couldn’t possibly ask Hannah to take over. She’d done most of the driving. Besides, we only had about an hour left.

How does the old saying go? Wreck a car once, shame on the unreasonably tiny roads. Wreck a car twice, get out of the driver’s seat and give up the keys for the rest of your two-week-long trip.

And that’s exactly what I did after driving the already damaged side of the car off the road in a ditch.

That’s right. For a second time within two hours, I’d damaged the car. No leaking tire this time, however. Just white smoke coming from under the hood. Hannah exclaimed: “Madeline!” There wasn’t much else to say. We got out of the car yet again and stepped away. I am no mechanic, but this seemed much worse than some air missing from a tire. I had no idea if anything would catch fire or if the car would explode, taking all our possessions along with it.

This time, Hannah called an emergency number we found on a sticker inside the car. For the life of us, we can’t remember how that conversation went. It did not end with them sending us help, though, or providing us with directions on what to do. Like last time, a car came along and needed to pass. Conveniently, I’d already driven our car halfway off the road, so there was plenty of room. This time, the person in the other car did stop. He rolled down his window and an Irish accent rolled off his tongue. He asked if we were okay. I think we said we didn’t know, and we pointed out the obvious: our engine was smoking. “That’s just the water making it steam,” he said, not seeming the least bit concerned. “Open the hood and wait a few minutes for it to cool down before you drive.” With that, he drove off. He’d done his good deed for the day. No one else came by while we waited in silence. After we arbitrarily deemed enough time had passed, I wordlessly handed Hannah the keys, and climbed into the passenger seat.

Hannah’s breathing was heavy and she kept clenching and unclenching the steering wheel. It was stressing me out to the point where I thought I was going to burst. But I bit my tongue and clenched my own fists. I, alone, was responsible for the situation we were in. I couldn’t very well tell her, in any tone or language, that she was stressing me out, could she please breathe quieter.

It was getting darker as we pulled down a long, twisting road to our Airbnb. All I wanted was a hot shower to burn away my memories. The hosts, a friendly couple, greeted us and gave us the rundown. It’s impossible to say if they saw the haunted look in our eyes. This was the place we’d been the most excited to stay–an adorable, classic Irish cottage with trees and fields surrounding us. We’d had plans to do a photo shoot. Needless to say, we were not in the mood.

I tried the shower first. The water never got hot. The cold water made things infinitely worse, as if no comfort in the world was to be found. I felt like I was living in a nightmare. This was going to be how I remembered my trip to Ireland. And we were only on day three. I knew for the next four days, I’d be worried the tire was finally going to give out, stranding us. Our time here now had a filter of stress, worry, and self loathing over it.

When I was dressed, I laid in bed. Hannah went to the kitchen and said she’d make us some tea. I supposed that would have to make up for the cold shower. While I was talking on the phone with someone from home, tears escaping my eyes as I explained the turn of events, I heard Hannah let out a stream of expletives. My heart, which hadn’t fully stopped racing and was still in my feet, jolted into panic mode again. I rushed to the kitchen to behold Hannah holding a kettle. The black bottom had melted onto the flat stove top, leaving a rubbery mess that dried as we stood there, hardening onto the surface.

Hannah had taken the kettle off its base, filled it, and heated it on the stove, not realizing it was an electric kettle. I hung up the phone, and Hannah and I searched the kitchen for something that could get the dried rubber off the surface. Finding nothing else, I scraped away with a metal spatula. We removed as much as we could, but the kettle was totaled, and black residue still remained on the stove. I felt as though I had brought this curse of misfortune upon us, and internally took on the guilt for the kettle as well. For maybe a second, I did feel the smallest shred of relief that Hannah had screwed something up too. It didn’t last long as I reminded myself there was a drastic difference between the severity of the two events.

Hannah messaged our hosts and explained what had happened. They sent a short message back. She had to leave them an extra 50 euros to replace it.

We ended up boiling water in a pot. The sun was down, but outside, deer feed had been left on short wooden stools lit by lights in the ground. We sat in front of the large cottage windows sipping our tea, scarred, battered, and exhausted, and watched dozens of deer emerge from the surrounding trees to eat. Had it been under better circumstances, I would’ve been giddy. As it was, I felt dead inside–traumatized. There were surely amazing things to come, but the threat of the car dying on us, and the terrible feeling inside my body, wold be there until we left for Scotland, where I knew I wasn’t going to take a turn driving. I did end up pulling my phone out to take videos of the carefree deer. I guess I wasn’t completely dead inside after all.

Miraculously, the car gave us no more problems, and the nightmarish feeling dissolved as we explored Ireland. Hannah delivered us safely and with no additional scrapes to the rental car center at the Dublin Airport. Neither of us said anything as the man there did his check. When he got to the passenger side, he asked us what had happened. I thought it was easier to simply say I’d been trying to get to the side of the road to let a car pass and drove us halfway into a ditch. He didn’t question it, probably not at all shocked by an American unable to maneuver the size of their roads.

I filled out some paperwork and we left, the man’s promise that we’d be contacted in the coming weeks about the damages weighing heavy in my heart.

I told this story sparingly when I returned stateside, ashamed of my inability to navigate the small roads, the shame deeper due to the fact I’d laughed at my mother for making such a fuss about them. What was most upsetting was questioning myself as the competent driver I’d always thought I was, and this identity crisis lasted months after the return, along with the fear that, if I ever wanted to go back to Ireland or Scotland alone, I now had unresolved trauma that would make me hesitant and fearful.

As weeks passed, I awaited, with trepidation, the phone call from Hannah telling me she’d been contacted by her insurance. I’d spent most of my savings on the trip and didn’t have a couple grand for international car repairs. Eventually, she did get the call. The repair cost not just two grand, but over double that. Maybe the reason I am now able to laugh each time I retell this story is because her insurance, thank the Lord, covered every penny of it. Ironically, and perhaps unjustly, Hannah paid more to replace a damaged kettle than I did after wrecking, twice, our little red rental car.

The road we were on was a dead end. In both directions.

One of the highlights of our 2022 family trip to Hawaii was our day-long adventure on the Road to Hana. Our driver picked us up at 8 am, and our excursions would last until 5 pm. She asked each of us to give her one thing we felt we had to experience during our drive. I wanted to jump off of a waterfall. Since this tends to be a popular request, we decided to save it for the end of the day in an effort to avoid the peak crowds.

The jump off the waterfall was as exciting as I had imagined. As I walked toward the edge, I couldn’t stop and let the fear settle in, so I jumped without a countdown. My heart was racing but I was underwater and back up in seconds. The drop was about 30 feet. I couldn’t believe I did it. At the end, we all needed to change into dry clothes, but the bathrooms had a line out the door. Our driver told us that if we could hold off, she knew of bathrooms that were about ten minutes on our way back. So we all piled in the van.

On a residential, dead-end road, there was a public beach, which is where the bathrooms were located. It took us a total of ten minutes to change our clothes and get back in the car. As we drove up toward the main road, we saw a tree had fallen and blocked our access out. We were confused because it had happened so quickly. Worry crept in, and we tried to see if we could walk around the tree. The brush surrounding it was too thick. A resident saw this and immediately drove a machine to cut up and remove the tree. But upon further examination, it was discovered that the tree had taken power lines down with it. This meant we’d have to wait for the electric company to move the lines and the tree.

Because the side road that we were stuck on was very remote, there were only about five other vehicles of tourists stuck with us. Some of the residents had come out to ask if we needed anything. We all congregated in one location on the beach, and as the conversation evolved, we realized that the residents used generators - they were not tied to public power. With the small number of tourists stranded and no residential need to restore power, we knew this was not going to be a priority for the electric company. We began to worry that we wouldn’t make our tour the following day, which had a pickup time of 1:30 am, so we could hike up Haleakala to watch the sunrise.

We got to know the other tourists. One of them had just raced his sailboat from Vancouver all the way to Maui and was camping in his jeep for the remainder of his time on the island. He had a large supply of freeze dried food that he began to reconstitute for the group. One of the families had small children and they were worried because they were low on water. Our driver had several cases for her upcoming tours, so she gave them some. A resident came out to let us know that he had food cooking and we were welcome to come over and eat. This detour was turning into a bonding experience, and we were making new friends.

A torrential storm came, but we stayed outside under a tree, which offered a little protection, socializing, eating, and drinking the last few beers from one camper’s cooler. This was, of course, the only rain we saw for the entire two weeks that we were in Hawaii.

It took six hours for the electric company to show up. They removed the power lines and tree within an hour. During that time, we kept walking to the top of the road to check the progress. We tried not to get excited because we didn’t know how long it was going to take. When the way was finally clear, we were ecstatic. We bid farewell to all our new friends and headed back to the rental house. While in the car, our driver asked us what our favorite part of the Road to Hana was. Each of our kids said that getting stranded was the best part. Although jumping off a waterfall was pretty amazing, I had to agree. The bonding that happened amidst the adversity was a special experience you can’t ask for, as I’d requested the waterfall. It was a great lesson on how to handle a situation if it doesn’t go as expected. We still keep in touch with many of the people we were stranded with through social media.

We made it home at midnight, took a one hour nap, and headed back out for our hike. Sometimes the best part of a trip is what you don’t plan for. As the sun rose on our family, I was filled with gratitude, even for our misadventure.