Driving down PCH in Southern California is one of the most incredible experiences I have ever had. With miles of scenic coast and rolling ocean waves, there is almost nothing in the world to equal it. I could blissfully drive for hours with nothing more than me, the sun and that amazing expanse of Pacific Ocean.
That’s why I decided one day to buy myself a convertible. For more than four years I’d been driving the same beat-up clunker that my parents had gotten me for my 16th birthday. It seemed like a luxury then; it felt like scrap metal now. I was long overdue for something new, something incredible, something that could let the wind blow through my hair. So off to the car lot I went with my checkbook and a dream. Two hours later I left driving a br and new, bright red, fully loaded convertible. I couldn’t wait to take my first ride along PCH. Like a responsible driver though, I took it straight home and called my insurance agent to make sure I added it to my policy; I might be feeling wild enough to buy a convertible but that didn’t mean I’d gone crazy.
The next morning, fully insured and bursting with excitement, I ran out to my br and new red beauty and slid behind the wheel. In twenty minutes I’d made it past the city traffic and was sailing blissfully down a vast expanse of open coastal highway, watching the seagulls ride the wind as I went. I waited to put the top down until I came to my favorite stretch of road then, with a little giggle of anticipation, I pressed the button to lower the convertible top. I could hear the equipment quietly whir as the top folded back on itself. The vibrant blue sky seemed to burst in on me as the wind grabbed my hair and whipped it backward off my face. There was a moment of inexpressible joy, the top was at its highest point as it glided effortlessly backward and then something large flew straight into it. It was immediately followed by another large something and then another. A profusion of feathers burst around me and my giggle turned to a shriek. There were seagulls everywhere, flapping into the backseat, falling onto the floor, beating me around the head with their frantic wings.
I’m not sure how I managed it but somehow I pulled over to the side of the road. I leapt out of my car, dancing awkwardly in an attempt to free myself from the hysterical gulls and after a moment, it was all over. They were gone as quickly as they’d come, somehow managing to extricate themselves from beneath the half-raised top of my beautiful new convertible. Sadly I discovered that while the birds had managed to escape with only a few lost feathers, my car hadn’t fared so well. The high-speed collision of bird and top had been too much for my sweet car and the lowering mechanism was broken.
Though my insurance agent was very nice and helped me get my beautiful car back in working order, he couldn’t quite contain a rather boisterous laugh over my encounter with the birds.
