30 in 30 days: The other driving test : pixeldiva

After a 30 minute interrogation, designed to ascertain just how pathetic I was, and how long I was likely to remain that way, I was led, slowly, down a corridor (while being watched by someone else, just to make sure I wasn't faking it) to the assault course.

The wheelchair assault course, where I was to take a driving test, to make sure that I could operate an electric wheelchair in a manner that wouldn't result in me causing chaos and mayhem wherever I went.

Once in the chair, I was given some basic instruction on how to start the thing (make sure the batteries are connected and either push a button or flip a switch, depending on the model) and how to make the thing go where I wanted it to (not as easy as it looked).

The basics are simple - a slow/fast switch, and a joystick. Push forward and it goes forward. Push forward harder, it goes faster. Let go and it stops (although not immediately - it needs some braking distance). Pull back and it reverses. Go anywhere other than forward or backwards and it turns, to varying degrees.

Easy.

Or so I thought.

Going forward or backwards is the easy part. Going round corners is ok. Reversing round corners isn't so much fun, but I had that pretty much under control, and was pootling round the specially constructed wheelchair assault course in no time. Up and down the humps, round the tight corners. It was actually rather fun.

Until the final part of the test.

The test of nerves. The bit where they tell you that the only proper way to get off a kerb onto the road if there's no dropped kerb is to reverse off it.

Yes, that's right.

Talk about a leap of faith?

So they got me up on the fake kerb, and told me to reverse, and it's the scariest thing in the world, because you need to make sure you're straight, because if you're at an angle it can all go horribly wrong and the thing'll tip over and you'll fall out and the wheelchair might fall on you and god knows it's embarrassing enough being out in an electric wheelchair without falling out of it in public in the middle of a road that might have cars coming along it and your mind is racing and every fibre of your being is telling you not to do it because it's just totally and utterly wrong.

I obviously wasn't the first person to look at him like he was insane, so to get me started, and reassure me that it was perfectly safe, he gave me a helping hand, reached over and hit the joystick, reversing the chair off the kerb.

I think it's to my credit that I didn't scream like a girlie, because for a split second, I really thought it was all going to go horribly wrong.

Then he made me do it without his "help", and once I stopped my hands from shaking enough to control the thing, I did it, and then did it again, because he was obviously a sadist.

Then I got to try the other fun trick with kerbs. Getting up the damn things, using the obviously named kerb climber attachment, which somewhat predictably, helps you get up kerbs that aren't dropped.

Not content with making me throw myself backwards off the kerb, he now wanted me to drive straight at it. At speed. Without automatically letting go like any sane individual would do when faced with an obstacle and armed with even the scantest memory of being taught Newton's laws.

Despite visions of being launched out of the chair and performing a spectacular face-plant in the faux scenery they'd so carefully constructed, I did as he said, and miracle of miracles, actually got up the kerb, at which point he made me reverse off it again.

Eventually, he was satisfied that I could operate the wheelchair (or got bored tormenting me, I'm not sure which), documents were signed, stern warnings about wheelies and showing off given (not really, to my great disappointment) and delivery of my very own electric wheelchair was arranged.

Funnily enough, I didn't particularly feel like celebrating passing that particular test.

30 in 30 days: The other driving test

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