I have arrived at that critical age when ...

It cannot be a pleasant ride when one must stay flat on his back while looking through the front window from between his knees. A Honda Del Sol was created to make the driver and passenger look good, not be comfortable.

When I had to spend nine hours riding shotgun in in my son's car - to Langley Air Force Base - I felt as though I was sliding along the road on my butt at 700 miles per hour. There are virtually no alternates in arrangement for one's posterior, and this means one's body must remain hopelessly packed into a single and very unnatural position - and then get whacked the whole time by unmercifully tight suspension.

Ah, but we looked good. There were times when I could forget my pain and believe that I felt about 30 years younger since I we looked so good in that car.

When we were allowed to get out of the thing while he got gasoline, which was once the whole trip, I thought I might manage a certain youthful attitude that would complement the appearance of the car, should anyone of the opposite sex be watching.

It was not to be. My legs were permanently folded and my back was tightly bent. It was a wonder I could stand, even crookedly, but by leaning on the hood for a while I managed it, hoping nobody was watching. I thought for a few minutes I might have to crawl over to the restroom.

My assignment on this trip - the only reason I agreed to come on this trip - was to drive my son through Virginia where the cops had lost patience with his 85-in-a-35 mentality. Drive him through on Sunday night, drive him back out next Friday when he again came home for a weekend. After that he would get his Virginia license back.

By the time we got to that state's border I was virtually without feeling in any extremity, but I managed to get into the driver's seat, still looking at the road from between my knees, only now I had the steering wheel to bother with. I managed to get it up to speed and set the cruise control and just hang on for a couple more hours.

His condo was on the beach so that week - while he did mechanical work on the Air Force jets - I moseyed up and down the Atlantic sand pile, looking for photos. It was a very decent way to spend a week.

He took me to Hooters one evening and we drew a waitress whose pregnancy must have been in the ninth month. Her shirt was ready to pop in all the wrong places. It was pay-back for even wishing for sexy decor at my age.

There's a time in life, I decided, when one should avoid Honda Del Sols and Hooters. It took a trip to Virginia to convince me that I had arrived.