[Ed has flown the coop for a week of R&R, and I know he has a number of Ur-Turn submissions in his inbox. Normally, we wouldn’t be running a piece from a prior Ur-Turn contributor, but these are not normal times. Mike George sent me this, and its a fitting finale to Panther Week. PN]

My auto insurance bills remind me of two things:  how old I was when I got my drivers license, and how much older I have become since .  You see, I got my license on my eighteenth and a half “birthday”, so the first due date of the year reminds me of the license, the second of my graying hair.  Oftentimes on paying the first bill I think back of my first Road Trip, which took place no more than three months after Oregon gave me the go-ahead.  My best friend Matt had moved to Culpeper, Virginia to drive a snowplow for his uncle.  I wanted in on the action. (Read More…)

Memory can be a funny thing: an ally or an enemy.  Any modern American likely grew up with cars, and can summon countless tales of good and woe.  Childhood vacations that required an I-70 burn through Kansas winters, causing the POS ‘83 Vanagon’s fuel lines to freeze.  Dad pumping bottle after bottle of Heet into the damned thing to no avail.  Making our way to Oregon during the freakish Wyoming blizzard of ’85, seeing countless vehicles of all sizes rolled in the median, while the family cat is sleeping peacefully on Mom’s lap… (Read More…)