There
were a great many things we youngsters of the
baby boomer generation had to learn about
driving. Some things we had to learn about do
not even exist on today’s autos. For example,
there was a wee button on the left side of the
driver’s floor board.That button would get covered up in mud, snow or other muck, making it both hard to find and slippery. The button was designed to switch the head lights between high and low beam.
In the winter, it was not uncommon for the blessed thing to freeze in one position or the other. That was fine if the lights were already on low beam, but other wise you would receive the North Idaho salute when an oncoming vehicle went by you. If that button got mud, muck or other things such as cow poop on it, then it became remarkably slippery. Then you would get frenzied trying to get your left foot on it.
To top all this off, most of us had to learn how to drive with a clutch. As a consequence, our feet had much to do. They just did not rest under you and go along for the ride. Your right foot ran the throttle, and brake, while the left had the clutch and that elusive button to control.
Shifting the transmission on the cars was accomplished by what we youth called “three on a tree.”
That was a lever on the steering column that had to be moved from first gear, to second and then to third. That shifting process required the feet and hands to work in conjunction with one another, which did not happen with regular frequency whilst we were learning.
Shifting, dimming and braking at the same time take a fair amount of talent and coordination, especially if a less than calm adult was along for the ride. We also did not have turn signals on a lot of those early model Chevys and Fords. To make a legal turn, you were required to stick your left arm out the window and make a rather goofy looking motion with your arm and hand.
Some of us were too small to get our arm very far out that window, so the only thing other drivers would see was a small hand wiggling in the breeze.
If the nervous adult was not looking, the North Idaho salute was occasionally given.
There was another button on the dash that required diligence as well. It controlled the windshield wipers. The wipers on those old beaters almost always had a mind of their own, crossing the windshield irregularly at best. This was due to the fact they were powered by compression off the engine, so when the car/pickup accelerated, these wipers just sat and sulked, but go down an incline and boy, they beat themselves to death on the center post of the windshield.
All these necessities of operation could take on a huge amount of importance on narrow roads and bridges. Our little town in North Idaho had a bridge that was probably designed by some irate troll in the last stages of his life.
This bridge came into being in the late 1920s, crossing the Kootenai River into Bonners Ferry. Since it was located on U.S. 95, the only north–south highway for 100 miles either side, it was a busy bridge.
There were some serious issues with this old bridge. First and foremost, the thing was narrow, really narrow. Getting a '56 Ford across with a '53 Chevy going the other way was more or less okay, as long as no one was giving the North Idaho salute. Put some fog, ice snow or a nervous adult into the mix and all bets were off.
In the spring of the year, the Kootenai River would almost inevitably reach a flood stage. Since the south end of the bridge was lower that the surrounding levees, sandbags would be placed across the roadbed to keep the local down town area dry.
That meant one had to slow down to get across those bags. Way down.
It was at this stage that getting ones feet, hands, gear shifter and wipers all on the same page became exceptionally important. There was more than one youth who banged their head on the roof of their means of transportation because one thing or another got out of sync.
For sheer dread, nothing could beat crossing that dang old bridge when a log truck was going the other way. Some of us wore our damages rather like a fighter pilot from the war. A tore off mirror, a dented fender or worse, meant you had survived an encounter with a kamikaze log truck driver.
There was one thing that would eclipse a log truck and that was a piece of farm equipment that took up both lanes of the bridge. Obliviously, that meant traffic had to wait until that machine made it across and then you could proceed onward.
There were some among us who, fighting the gear shifter, brake, throttle and wiper button failed to see the dang tractor coming, and would continue on blithely unaware that more than a North Idaho salute was about to be delivered.
For a kid to back up on a narrow bridge with a most disgruntled adult giving direction on how to do it was fairly comical. The "deer in a headlight" look would describe the adolescent's face.
This old bridge had some fairly unique acoustics about it, too. Since the roadbed was surrounded by steel girders, it was sort of like driving through a tunnel that was cracked open to sunlight.
If your ride had a dual exhaust system, you could get a most pleasing blast of noise reverberating off the girders. A mellow flatulence sound would be amplified exceedingly well. I know more than one young mischief maker would come down off the hill behind the bridge with the exhaust just popping away.
This would be accompanied by a huge old grin.
Yep, learning how to drive in the 50s on an appallingly narrow and unforgiving bridge was not for the nervous or timid. The abutments to that old bridge are still in place in downtown Bonners Ferry. Simply looking across those abutments will make you pucker, remembering close calls on that viaduct and wonder how semis, hay trucks and autos did not say hi to each other more often with the North Idaho salute.
On the abutment next to town, the city puts a Christmas tree up every December. I’ve often been tempted to inquire if that tree is installed as nostalgia for days gone by or in remembrance of dented fenders and ripped off mirrors.