At 130 km/h everything’s a blur.
I, like most of you, spend a lot of life on the road. In the past the radio was a faithful companion, inundating my little steel bubble with news, opinion, both informed and uninformed, music and, on days I strayed too far, a chip-bag burst of static. Lately however, I’ve chosen to take my trips in silence.
In this silence there is me, the car, and, on those particularly long stretches of asphalt with clean lines free for miles from lazy concoctions of brick and glass, only the occasional service station streaking by.
There!
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And gone.
Night driving is the most seductive. On those dark roads the world crowds in on you, pistons thump away and you are alone. Drive one-handed, elbow resting against the window – don’t worry, no taillights ahead, no headlights behind – and watch in silence as white lane markers flick, flick, flick under your wheels. Lone buildings become jewels, light pouring from every facet, transformed now, beautiful against an obsidian sky. Lean against that arm; wander into worlds far away, where fancy is achievable; where problems, magnified by the pressing queries of those you work with, those close to you, those problems press a little lighter; where people melt away, their concerns no longer yours. A little longer maybe, a little farther, and perhaps…
Yes, night driving can be seductive.
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