It was growing late on a wet, stormy night in Ireland and the innkeeper was worried. Three American women were overdue for their visit. He was right to be concerned.
With phone in hand, he considered calling the Automobile Association to begin a search. But exactly where were they?
Ireland has over 3,000 miles of national roads and another 8,000+ miles of regional roads. That doesn’t even take into account all the local roads that probably lead to someone’s sheep ranch. So these women could be almost anywhere.
Driving a rental car in Ireland as an American driver is tricky at best. Everything is reversed. For starters, you’re driving on the “other” side of the road. That’s challenging enough. But to make things harder, you’re seated in what we’re used to calling the passenger seat and steering from there. But there’s more. Most rental cars didn’t have automatic transmissions. Therefore, you had to shift gears with your left hand and use your left foot to work the clutch. These unfortunate women were doing it at night and during a storm so violent, their full speed wipers weren’t nearly speedy enough.
There are areas of Ireland that get rained on 225 days a year. That doesn’t leave many bright, sunny days. So it’s not surprising that Ireland has analyzed all that rain and come up with “11 Levels of Irish Rain.” They range between “Grand Soft and Dry” to “Bucketing,” and that’s only Number 7. Moving all the way up to Number 11, we come to “Hammering.” That pretty much describes what these three lost ladies were dealing with when they left the Dublin Airport for Clifden.
The next morning, I was pleased to see that the rain had subsided and was only “Raining Stair Rods,” Number 6 on the scale. This was still big, fat rain, but we were moving in the right direction. Entering the breakfast room, I was also pleased to see three women, all “Of a certain age,” enjoying their Irish breakfast. As the innkeeper walked by, I asked him, “Are those the three missing women?”
“Yes, they are,” he replied.
“So when did they arrive and what happened to them?”
“They arrived quite late,” he said. Then went on to explain that neither of them had ever driven a shift car, and all three were bad with directions. So using American ingenuity, they hatched a plan. Lady 1 would steer the car. Lady 2, seated in the passenger seat, would work the clutch. And when she did, she’d call out “Clutch!” This was the driver’s signal to shift the gear. Lady 3, seated in the back with map in hand, called out directions.
Later that morning, these three sprightly women headed off to a knitting workshop. But the rain was now down to Number 2, “Spitting Out,” the sun was playing peek-a-boo with the clouds and peace once again settled softly upon the green Irish countryside.
Jim is a semi-retired ad agency creative director. He enjoyed this trip to Ireland, where he and his wife drove on the correct side of the road much of the time. He’s convinced that leprechauns are in charge of all roadside directional signs.
