Colorado state law forbids teen drivers to host under-aged passengers in their vehicle within the first six months of acquiring their driver’s license. Though surely promised to cut teen deaths in half, this law is the dread of every young man.

This is one of the many outrageous state laws passed that is not followed, nor is it reasonable to enforce. I got my driver’s license in June of 2011 after a miserable year of driving with an instruction permit. When I was 16 I was plagued by the unfortunate reality of living in a community of less than 1,500 inhabitants. The town of Crested Butte lies deep in the Rocky Mountains and thrives on tourism, mostly skiing. A gorgeous place to live, but not a practical place to live. Little to my knowledge, later events of that summer would lead to the greatest change of my life.

It’s mid July and I am driving down Elk Avenue. My girlfriend, Ali, is sitting next to me and she is laughing. I am going five miles per hour at 3rd and Elk and excessively revving the engine in my black Mustang, simply for the pleasure of being able to do so. And possibly because all the pedestrians take a moment to stare at me me as if to say, “How dare you pollute our ozone you ungrateful little scoundrel?” But it’s okay because I bought the only American muscle car ever that’s as slow as their hippie wagons and exceeds their gas mileage. 

The speedometer abruptly ends at 85 mph and my dad tells me it’s humble exhaust sounds like an “angry wasp.” But I love my old fox body Mustang and it almost looks new from across a sizable parking lot after a thorough coat of wax is applied. Anyway, Ali is humored by the attention drawn to our car. She smiles at me and pulls my hand off the shift knob into her lap. We have been dating for seven months and spend considerable periods of time together. It is a hot day in paradise and the looming mountains look unreal in contrast to the deep Colorado sky.                

I continue our eastward trajectory after the four-way stop near the Chamber of Commerce. We drive slowly and life is good. We park at the park. Rainbow Park is not an unusual park. Children are having the time of their lives on the playground. Parents passively supervise from the shade of the nearby pavilion. A boy is scolded for ascending too high on the climbing wall. Thunderheads are rolling in slow motion to the west. I smell rain, but it’s still sunny at the moment.             

I see my mother. This is bad. I made a mistake.             

She pulls up next to me from the direction we had come and rolls down her window. She addresses me angrily. She has followed me here. I drove past her workplace and somehow she has witnessed me transporting my “unauthorized companion.” I am told to drop Ali off and return home. I am so angry that she followed me here! So I verbally vent a little and then bid farewell to my lady.             

I drive 26 miles down valley to get home and I can see that my mother’s car is in the gravel driveway. I reach our small house and an explosion occurs. I am already upset and then she immediately guts me for disobeying the law. I am 16 and state law is the least of my concerns. I am frustrated and I can’t handle her overwhelming approach of authority. I cannot believe she followed me across town to yell at me! So I march off the front porch and leave.             

I pull out of the driveway and I drive. I don’t know where to go, but I am afraid she has alerted the cops of my disobedient absence. Of all the mothers, she is the over-protective mother who would do that. So I avoid the highway and seek refuge on Ohio Creek Road. Ohio Pass is a heavenly road weaving through rural ranches and eventually into the mountains toward Crested Butte. I am violently shifting every time the tachometer begins to redline and I feel like I’ve never felt before. My windows are down and it’s still a beautiful afternoon. 

The golden hay fields watch me, a rebel from society, a black blur on this county road. A road familiar to me, but it looks different now. I’ve never left the house without permission. The fresh landscape welcomes me into the adrenaline of defiance. The clouds over Baldwin Peak look like over-inflated tractor tires and they sound like they are about to burst. I am blasting Eminem. I don’t know what I am doing but I feel great; just me and my Mustang on an empty stretch of pavement that will soon transition into a twisting washboard of dirt.