But this is Chico, too

Do you remember the first time you drove around a corner and realized you were heading in the wrong direction on a one-way street?

If you live in Chico long enough it’s bound to happen. In my nine years here, I think I’ve done it about five times. I’ve suffered no ill effects.

I can’t recall where I was the first time it happened, but I know that I panicked. Then I had one of those “But this is Chico” moments. The other drivers looked out for me. In the block that it took me to notice my error and correct it, nobody honked or screamed at me. They calmly moved into the other lane and used polite hand gestures to encourage me to get myself turned around.

This seems like a potentially lethal mistake, but in a community that takes bouts of wrong-way driving in stride, I’ve learned that it’s nothing to feel frantic about.

A couple of years ago, I was heading downtown with a friend who was visiting from the Bay Area. For some reason I turned right on Fourth Street when I should have waited until Fifth to make that move. My friend normally enjoys spontaneous gestures and novel situations, but she spotted my mistake before I did and immediately freaked out. In the Bay Area, a wrong turn like that could well be the last turn of your life, but I wasn’t rattled. As I expected, the other drivers moved out of my way and put their pointing skills to work to get me back on track.

In Chico, the driving situations that ought to be scary turn out not to be. Getting on the freeway and merging into its traffic without getting hit always feels like a losing proposition, but so far it has worked out.

Oddly enough, my most harrowing adventures take place in parking lots, where people are coming at you from every direction and the rules of the road seem less clear cut than when you’re out on the road. Pulling into a crowded gas station always proves to be more stressful than I imagine it will be. There’s usually not enough room to form a line, so everyone ends up circling the pumps until an opening appears. Then there’s a scramble to get there first. Sometimes the gas tank side of the car is facing the wrong way, so I have to go around again.

It’s always reassuring to finally be able to pull up to a pump, stop the car and get out. It feels good to again feel the ground underneath my feet. After more than 30 years of driving, I still feel more comfortable on foot than I do riding in a car.