"I do not hold the opinion that driving a vehicle is just to get from point A to point B, even if your destination is of great importance. Something is carrying you along the way and the force that is pushing you is your car." - Nolan Callecod, "Driving and the Art of Self-Reflection"

As both a college student and a car enthusiast, I realize how fortunate I am to drive a show car. It is something that not everyone my age can enjoy or even appreciate. I also understand that I am an outlier as a 21-year-old that can not just talk about how a car is built. A lot of it is about the thrill that driving a classic automobile can give.

At any given car show that I go to, one of the more frequent statements I hear, even from owners of other classic cars that are more "cherry" (a term that means "perfect" or "clean") than mine, is that they remember when they had their Volkswagen. I always ask myself this question if they don't elaborate further: What does he remember about that Beetle?

Was it the various date nights that ended with some improvement of their "night moves"? Was it the smoked-out adventures that they took as a wayward hippie (this mostly applies to those who had a VW Bus)? Or do they remember driving down the highway blaring the radio? Much of these experiences can be attributed to the unique phenomenon of joyriding from their teenage and college years, and they are universal regardless if they owned a Volkswagen or a Bel Air.

I took the quote above from an interesting article that Nolan Callecod '19 wrote a while back, which dealt with how a car could be a vehicle for self-reflection, and how driving allowed a person to put things in perspective. I would say that I agree with his assessment, because many of my experiences driving my 1974 Volkswagen Beetle have served those purposes.

I will admit: I am a little vain when it comes to my car. I like to "showboat" for attention when I drive down downtown Crawfordsville, with no definite place to go. I hope for another car enthusiast driving his "baby", or for a Wabash student (perhaps a Freshman who has not made the connection between the Beetle and the student driving it) to take notice of the car that my dad and I built together. I will accommodate that guy who needs to go to Wal-Mart or the gas station for groceries, just so I can get out and drive. I am proud of it.

But a lot of the time, me going out for a drive is not so I can satisfy my vanity and be seen in the car. Most often, I just want to go for a joyride and relax.

I strongly believe, just as Nolan does, that driving can be therapeutic. Especially for the college student, it allows for him to take a break from this or that assignment; to contemplate direction; to reflect on how he can get through it all a little bit better than how he did a week ago.

Being able to go for a drive has allowed me many needed opportunities to depressurize all of the frustration that comes from the stress of writing history papers or reading fifty pages per night. Of course, getting that work done is of utmost importance. But staring at a computer for more than two-and-a-half hours can drive one mad. It has for me.

The radio, it can be argued, is a crucial part of that therapy. Driving for kicks or work purpose is simply not that effective without music. A car engine's hum can't help you unleash your kempt-up emotions like listening to "Free Bird" or "December, 1963" can do; at least this is true for me. It's even better driving with other friends, because they can sing along (or at least try to).

Joyriding is a remnant of the car culture that was omnipresent in the 1950s and early 60s. Showing off was an integral part of it. Driving had a purpose to encourage rivalry, to see who could have the fastest or most beautiful car. That American Graffiti-style competition died after the car became less of a vehicle for excitement, and one made for work and basic transportation. It's one reason why most became uglier as time went on.

Perhaps that is the way that the world of work and play has come around. Driving for pleasure has been devalued as gluttonous, unnecessary. But take it from the perspective of an unchained teenager: Why is it that when he gets a car for his birthday, or he builds an automobile to his desires, he feels a weight lifted off of his shoulders? Why is he so belated?

It's because the car, as both a man-made thing and as an idea, represents freedom.

When Henry Ford set out to build the Model T, he expressed that, was well as producing a stable automobile for the masses, "no man making a good salary will be unable to own one - and enjoy with his family the blessing of hours of pleasure in God's great open spaces."

Ford's vision was to give the average American family the opportunity to get away from a mundane and laborious existence. The whole philosophy of the Model T was based on leisure and ease.

For anyone who is lucky enough to drive a show car/daily driver like I am, or for someone who just has a car that serves as strict transportation, driving can elicit happiness. It is because there is no agenda, besides an end in returning home safely. It is a unique happiness, one that is sensory and emotional. It is an escape.

That "something" that is carrying you along is not just an inherent purpose to get from point A to point B. It is, for those who feel that sensory rush of adrenaline or lull of serenity, a synchronicity between pleasure and ponderance. Joyriding is a pleasure that has become too rare, because many of us have forgotten to slow down.

Joyriding has the opposite effect of gluttony; it compels rejuvenation and clarity. It acts as a reset on perspectives that are more important. But most of all, joyriding makes you feel more in control than you did before you turned the ignition. Few therapies can provide that kind of positive turnaround.