My Way or The Highway

This post is part II of a series. To read part I click here.

Driving on highways has always been a source of reflection: Time, space, culture, life: you name it. Things must have been very similar in older days when progress was much slower with horses being the fastest available means of transportation. With current days’ challenges in energy resources and consumption, one of the questions that comes up is whether we are about to loose the speeds we got so used to in the twentieth century? Although I have no idea as to what might replace fossil fuel, my guess is that a replacement of some sort will be developed.

But for me this is also a time when memories swirl up. One of them, related to speed, is the day I took friends from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem in my car. Although I have an impressive count of accidents in my driving history, my confidence in driving always stayed. As I was merging into the heavy and fast traffic flowing on the freeway cutting through Tel Aviv I was also engaged in conversation with my friends, Eli and Shlomit. Shlomit, who was sitting beside me suddenly moved violently beside me in her seat and raised her voice in alarm.

We were riding at about 100 km/h and cars were zooming beside us, some slower than us and some faster; much faster. For Shlomit, the experience was apparently overwhelming. She had thought we were about to crash. My reaction might have been harsh but it allowed us to keep on going and complete the 60 km ride without harm. While keeping with the flow of traffic I told Shlomit to remain in her seat and leave the driving to me. I’ve had done that ride many times. If anything would cause us to have an accident it was her agitated demeanor.

Shlomit and Eli stayed in Jerusalem for the night and I had to return to Tel Aviv. At about 3 am I was half way to my destination. In the coming exit, a few hundred meters away, I was planning to stop and refresh myself. It so happened that a deserted car neatly standing at the side of the road had woken me up before reaching the exit. The ride ended with my left hand heavily hit on the steering wheel and the car ending its short life with me as spare parts.

From the hospital I rushed back home just a little late for the morning walk with Neto, my patient dog who was happy as usual to greet me at the door.

I still love driving.

To read part three, click here.

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