
The Romance of the Road
A love letter to all the devoted auto-phobes out there.
There are many things about myself that could in no way be classified as achievements, yet of which I am proud. The fact that I am tall, for example, and have the best star sign (Capricorn). Another is that I have made it to age 54 and never learned how to drive.
Strictly speaking, this is an anti-achievement: it belongs on a list of incompetencies. Yet I like to feel it indicates a certain panache.
I have never incurred a parking ticket, pumped petrol, or had to learn anything about the metal intestines that lie under the bonnet like a nest of cyborg worms.
Wiper fluid, brake fluid, petrol, oil—are these even different substances? They all sound like entries on a non-alcoholic wine list, which is something else I have no intention of trying.
Only once, about two years ago, did I unavoidably have to move a car. I consulted YouTube about how this might be done. And while I completed the task successfully, I did note the video was wrong about one thing: it said you had to take the parking brake off to drive.
Having forgotten to do that and traversed a (fortunately deserted) Queensland country road with the parking brake firmly on, I can assure you that releasing it is not necessary.
Another perk of never driving is that it makes me an expert on driving. As a passenger I’m free to observe, instead of constantly twirling the direction dial or fussing with the gear pulley as drivers are forced to do. And they no doubt appreciate when I announce the road signs in a crisp diction (“merge LEFT!” “Stop sign AHEAD!”) and read aloud the numbers on the dashboard gauges whenever they change.
Of course, quality matters. All this is best done nestled in the buttery leather interiors of an Aston, the heated seats of a Bentley, or one of those Rolls Royces which have full-sized umbrellas stored inside their doors.
For me, the romance of the road is an affair best conducted in the back seat—stretched out, shoes off, hair tousled, screaming the speed limit signs.
Oh, and driver, put the handbrake on. I want to be able to feel it.
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Courtesy of Patricks

