Laurens and Ansel de Jong

One intimidating aspect of parenting is that you really get only a single chance to do everything right (two at most), and if you don't get it right, you've failed. In a way, then, parenting is the ability to deal with an unending series of failures and somehow believe yourself to be a success. And it's true, most children grow up to be respectable adults, regardless of how frequently their parents messed things up for them. However, because my son isn't anywhere near grown up yet, all I face is the now two-year-long series of failures I mentioned, and as a non-parent you would question why I persevere.

On the 4th of July of this year I found myself and my son a three-mile distance from the 1/3rd mile oval of Northern Michigan Speedway. Ansel, 22 months old, seemed grown-up enough to take to the autoraces with me. He had shown the healthy interest in toy cars that fathers expect of their sons, and could identify convertible cars as well as yellow school buses. To the speedway with him, then!

And what a beautiful day it was: cloudlessly sunny, in the high seventies, barely any wind. Picture-perfect America, and that most American form of autoracing: short tracking on a Saturday night. All that. The boy. And me. And nothing else in the whole world that mattered to me. Ansel, holding my hand, toddled through the gate, past the scoring tower and into the stands, and at the first sight of race cars cried: "papa [daddy] cars!" And I said, "do you see the cars, son?" "Do you smell the cars, son?"

Twelve years earlier I was walking up to the main gate of Pocono Raceway to watch Saturday's activities of the NASCAR race that weekend. Cars were on the track already, probably practicing, and ahead of me walked a man and his son, who was probably six or seven. The dad leaned over to his son and asked, "do you smell the cars, son?" I can sit here all those years later and recall that smell, and recall how proud that man was to be there with his son, and recall wondering what it would be like to go to the speedway with my son.

"Do you smell the cars, son?" I asked, and Ansel answered, "ah-yah, ah-yah!" He pointed his little finger at the cars, and as they went around in circles, so did his little finger, around in circles. We didn't stay for much longer after that, leaving well before any of the feature races had begun. Vague intentions I had to return later evaporated quickly, when we sat in the bedroom and I asked him what the papa cars do. "Vr-oom, vr-oom," he mimicked, and with each vr-oom completed a circle.

I sat there, freed from all the failures. Because none of those failures stack up to the feeling of connecting to your son like that. When he sits there and, in all his purity, accepts part of your life into his own, nothing else matters. Nothing else matters, for that moment is as God-given beautiful as Joseph, Jesus and Mary.

By my best reckoning, anyway. I miss winter.

A couple of things have happened. I have damaged the right skirt of the "S" in the stupidest wreck I've ever been in. I drove over the curb at a gas station. Priceless.

I've finished an ethics paper on the radio show and its fallout — available on request.

225. On Lake Crest Dr and Huron River Dr.
A welcome return of snow!

The snow, although plentiful, didn't stick on the roads very well and thus didn't contribute to an improved morning commute. Perhaps just as well — I wasn't fully confident that the summer tires would stick on light snow.

224. On I-75 S Near Trumbull.
Fleece to keep me warm — where's spring?

That's the Michigan Central Depot in the background; one of Detroit's landmark buildings. I decided to capture it here in all its decrepit glory before it is, hopefully, torn down.

223. In Front of Dearborn's Home Depot.
Climbing out of my car.

For some time now I have been locking the driver's side door, which I have to do manually because the "S" doesn't do it on its own. A lot of American cars lock their doors automatically once you start driving, and I've always assumed that was to keep intruders out — and while that may be true, there's another good reason to lock your doors: it increases the structural integrity in the case of a crash. So that's why I've taken to locking the door, and because it's not done automatically, I prefer to leave it locked all the time, getting into and out of the car the way you see in the picture. I'm sure it looks very silly.

Someone at work asked me this week if I had "broken the record yet." He honestly believed I was going after a record with my top-down driving. That just baffles me. I guess someone told him and he just believed it, but that just raises my eyebrows even more. Why believe something as outlandish as that? Yeah, that stuff bothers me.

So, newly annoyed by people meddling with my topless affairs, I decided to check the website of the radio station who reported on it and linked to my website. It turns out the link has fallen off — which makes me happy.

222. On Applewood Dr.
Waving at a neighbor — and why not? A nice spring day!

Waving at neighbors isn't something I do to be friendly; you all know I'm not a friendly person — but waving when I drive slows me down, and looking for people to wave at increases my awareness. It's a traffic safety measure, waving. Nothing to do with being friendly, okay?

221. On Huron River Dr and Huron St.
A rainy day.

The day after this picture, someone commented in a meeting at work that he had seen me going sideways in the rain. I don't recall doing that, and I certainly don't recall doing it anywhere near close enough that people from work would notice — but it's likely to have happened.

The Photostreak encountered some technical difficulties and will return on Monday.

220. On I-96 W near Warren Rd.
Another breezy chilly day — but bright enough to wear sunglasses.

The explanation in the caption is because the 89X billboard is in the background, and I don't want them to make fun of me or anything.

Although I took my sunglasses off just a minute later, for the sun had disappeared behind the clouds.

219. On I-94 E near Livernois Ave.
Stuck … in … mad … traffic … !

That was the worst I-94 traffic I've ever seen in good weather! This picture is the last of six consecutive ones in the same location — that means I was sitting completely still for a whole minute. That's not a lot of progress.

A semi had rear-ended an SUV pretty badly. That left just the one lane open. I'm mad because I did know about it; I just didn't think it would be that bad. But it cost me well over an hour.

Pretty day, though.

218. In the Garage..
For undetermined reasons, I was wearing a coat — it was quite pleasant, at 40 °F.

This time, Ansel was waiting in the house when I came home, so he didn't have to dress up. Here he is pointing to explain that mama is inside, while her car is parked next to us. All these explanations he gives are so helpful!

217. On the Driveway.
Obviously, quite cool despite the sun.

Ansel gets very excited when he hears me coming home. Flailing arms, clapping hands, pointing, etcetera. Then he wants to be in the car with me, and we drive up and down the driveway until he's had enough. He wants to go in the car even if I've already come out and gone into the house.

But sometimes, Julie is outside waiting for me. Such happened today, and he was all bundled up to stand the breezy chill. On the first day of spring, no less!

216. On Textile Rd, near Huron River Dr.
Forty-something, and breezily cold.

On Tuesday night I was driving home from a good night's work at the EMU library when I decided to take the nameless streets instead of Huron Street. I did that so I could theoretically unwind a little bit; I mean, hypothetically, I could let the S2000 go as fast as it can go between 90 degree turns, which would be around 85 mph because I would just about run out of third gear — and that's in a nominal 25 mph zone; nominal because those nameless streets may be private roads. And, dare I say it, a harmless 85 mph because these are completely deserted nameless streets, save for the occasional ambulance parked in the cul de sac, and I wasn't going anywhere near the cul de sac this evening.

Of course, I wouldn't dream of doing such hypothetical speeds, but I found myself hooking left and back towards Huron St at a considerable clip. I was just about to roll out when I noticed the exit back towards civilization was blocked by a police car. Blue lights flashing. Odd, I thought, to block Huron St, but then the spot light made it clear he was, in fact, sitting there to make sure I wouldn't be going anywhere.

So I stopped. The officer, from the Washtenaw County sheriff's office, came over and asked why I was going so fast over there. I said, truthfully, to unwind. All of a sudden, two more police cars appeared: State troopers from the station across Huron Street. Now there were three police cars, lights flashing, surrounding me, who might have just been doing 85 in a 25.

I swallowed and, while the Sheriff dismissed the troopers, assessed my situation. I had been on the nameless streets less than a minute; as much as it seemed that way, it was impossible that anyone had seen me, called or radioed me in, and sent the good Sherrif out there. He must have been sitting there all along, shooting southbound Huron St traffic. If so — would he have pointed the gun at me, across considerable distance? Not likely. In other words, whatever speed he thought I had been going would be as hypothetical as my admission just now.

He took my paperwork, as we chatted fairly amicably. He wanted to know why I had a camera mount, and I explained, and asked if he knew me. Not an unreasonable question, given what I do around here; plenty of people "know" me. I'm a celebrity, okay? But he didn't know me, and also didn't seem to take offense. So far, so good.

Then he disappeared to run my license and all that stuff they do in there, giving me some more time to again realize nothing could possibly come out of this. Sure enough, he came back, said "okay, buddy, you're all set," and that ended the police investigation.

And that's the luckiest I've ever been in a situation that included 85, 25 limit, three police cars, and St Patrick's Day. And they say only the Irish know luck… not to mention that this was Day 1313 of The Streak.

215. On Lafayette Blvd.
The bright lights of the BCBSM building.

It got a bit colder during the day — after a spell of rain — removing the illusion of spring we've had recently. It wasn't that cold in the morning, when someone two lanes over was enthusiastically honking and waving at me. It turned out to be someone from work. I often wonder if the people who wave and honk know me; I really very rarely recognize anybody.

214. At Ford Heritage Park..
Car appropriated by wife, mother-in-law, and dog-in-law.

All of a sudden, I'm no longer alone. Other convertibles, motorcycles — they're everywhere. They stole my alone time, and now the wife, the mother-in-law, and the dog-in-law stole my car. I walked home.

On the plus side, I walked home with Ansel. Yippiee!

213. On Haigh St.
The hat doesn't go with the suit — I need dressier hatwear!

A week or so ago — it was freezing, but not snowing or anything — the driver of a black M5 passed me, then drove in the parallel roadway of I-94 near the airport so I could pass him in what he thought was without my noticing, so he could take a picture. Why would I not notice a black M5??! So I did, and today I was driving on Oakwood Blvd and came across that same M5. I waved, but he pretended not to notice me.

Some people!

The alignment feels really different. I wonder if that's my imagination because the mechanic couldn't dial in as much camber as I had prescribed, and the camber he ended up with is barely more than normal. On top of that, I still need to take it somewhere else because the rear toe eccentric wouldn't move, so my left rear toe is all off.

All off! The rear toe! On the left!

212. On Nameless St Off Huron St.
Trying out my new alignment!

It was time: yesterday I switched back to summer tires. Thanks to my new breaker bar, a Christmas gift, taking off the winter tires took very little effort. Then I put anti-seize in the lugnuts when I put the summer tires on, and today I went to get my alignment done.

Ready for summer. Any day now.

211. On Briggs Hwy.
A good 50 °F, as Julie is pointing out.

Here are things I forgot you need to do when you go on a three-hour drive with the top down, when it's sunny: bring water; bring sunscreen; be prepared to get dirty and tired. By the time Julie and I got back from our drive to Addison (to pick up missing cow parts), I was incredibly tired, dehydrated, windburnt, and just generally sore. I forgot what topless summer driving was like — and this wasn't even summer yet. In fact, a customer at the sausage factory questioned why I had the top down. I don't know why because there were others, and plenty of motorcycle riders. I even saw a1979 BMW R750! Memories…

210. On Larned going over I-375.
There's a bus! As if Detroit has mass transit.

First: see the PIAA wiper? I've had those for months now; I'm fairly pleased with them.

Second: a bus.

Third: clear blue skies! But not really; there was some haze, and it wasn't crispy cold, either.

Fourth: later on, another motorcycle passed me. Unlike the guy yesterday, this one acknowledged my existence — fellowship. But not really! I know he's much colder than I ever am; even when it's -16 °F.

Fifth: it's not completely true that I only drive topless "because I like it." I've been thinking about that and, specifically, what I would do if everybody did this? Although it's hard to know for sure, it's quite possible I'd have the top up from time to time. But even then, and this is the part nobod knows: I first got the idea of always driving with the top down when I saw it on TV. On Dutch television's Blik op de Weg, which revolved around police videos, mostly of speeders, there was a Jaguar E Type convertible — top down, in 30 °F weather. I thought that was very cool, and I've wanted to emulate it ever since. Of course, I seem to remember the driver was wearing a leather helmet/hat, but that's not the point. My point is: I had inspiration. It isn't just "because I like it."

Although I do like it.

209. On I-94 W, near Oakwood Blvd.
Freezing, or close to it — and that's a motorcycle ahead!

You know — as much as I think every day is great, there have been few really beautiful days this winter. February and March is usually when I get to drive at least a handful of days in bright sunshine and absolutely clear skies — although 25 °F weather; but this year, the clear skies have been absent. Even on cloudless day, it's been hazy, or dusty. The weather reports calls it "clear skies," but I know better. Disappointing!

208. On Beaubien and Lafayette.
Back to freezing — although you can't tell.

It wasn't all that cold, at 29 °F, but I had to put gloves on and everything — my body seemed to have forgotten what it's like to be cold already.

Hey, I just noticed you can see me in the mirror. Convex mirrors are the best!