7 October 2009

Bless me dear reader for I have sinned. And I'm about to compound that sin, by pointing the very same finger of blame at each and every one of us on the roads today. It's something that will make most aficionados of the world of motoring wince, too.
 
Every now and then all of us are bad drivers. No matter how skilled behind the wheel we may think we are, from time to time carelessness, distraction or even exuberance lead us all to bugger up while driving. In fact the more cringe worthy part of this is that no matter how good we may think we are, or even how much we know about cars themselves (both technologically and dynamically) we will all from time to time still crunch our gears, brake a bit late, dawdle in the middle lane of a motorway or even god-forbid take our eye off the metaphorical ball and have a prang. No matter how many car magazines we read, how much time we're plonked on the sofa in front of re-runs of Top Gear, or even how much time we spend at the helm of our favourite motor, these things will always plague us. Granted, track days and the like can teach us to drive more safely by <<ahem>> 'exploring the dynamics of our cars in safer environments', but few of us have access to private runways or circuits often enough to make a real difference. And even if they did...accidents do still happen.
 
So, back to my sin. I was driving last weekend, and I cocked it up. Pretty simple really. I was in a (fairly) powerful rear-wheel drive car, but not one that I am in any way unfamiliar with - it's a car that I've spent quite a lot of time driving over the years, and one that I should know the foibles of well enough by now. And suffice to say that it's not a car that is reputed to be a particular handful. I was with a friend of mine, and that little school-boy part of my brain which these days is usually too bogged down in the malaise of everyday adult life suddenly pricked it's ears up and whispered "Go on...give it some beans. Do some real driving...". Idiotically and without any further thought on the matter, and whilst going up a hill in light drizzle, I prodded my right toe forward pretty sharply and was greeted by the glorious rumble of a flat-six doing what it does best. Which is unstick the back wheels. About three seconds later. I was staring back down the hill into the eyes of a bemused lady in a sensible hatchback which had been following me.
 
I have spun cars before (out on my own on track days and the like, of course...), but only in environments when I was in no real danger of causing anyone else any harm. This incident was extremely unlike any of those hairy-chested tyre-smoke moments, or when you see a tv presenter wilfully donut-ing a Ferrari about on some gloriously deserted tarmac. It was an idiot who hadn't really thought about what he was up to, in a moment of lapsed concentration, driving outside his ability. I felt pretty bad about it (on several levels), but not, I'm fairly sure, as bad as the driver of the Mercedes coming down the hill who rounded the bend to see some tool approaching him sideways, oh no actually backwards now, in a flash car. I hope I never meet that chap (although I'd very much like to shake his hand for his sterling and precise work on the brakes) as I probably owe him a pair of slacks and a valet of his driver's seat. The look of sheer puzzlement on his face as he passed (we made eye-contact through my passenger window, me having rotated neatly through 180 degrees) having summoned up the courage to continue his journey will stay with me for some time.

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26 July 2009

The latest gap in service has been caused by the all too short holiday period, but having returned with the customary Anglo Saxon skin pallor whipped into a slightly sore-looking pink, thoughts are turned back to the automotive world (after all, that is the point of these ramblings). And the most burning of those thoughts? Hire cars, oddly. For whilst they can be seen as little more than vacationary necessities, these cars are often an integral part of a holiday jaunt. Sometimes they're damn near fundamental to proceedings. And yet they often get little more than a parting thought when they're unceremoniously dumped, slightly across two parking spaces, door bins living up to their names, filled with sweet wrappers, petrol receipts, sand and other standard bits of general holiday detritus. And so, I thought to myself, "Self: you should write something about these unsung heroes of the car world, which despite stalwart and tireless performance to an uncaring audience usually get little more than a cursory, over-the-shoulder glance as the drivers throw the keys back at the rental agent and scurry off to their terminal. Late I shouldn't wonder. Tsk." But then I realised that this was a shit idea, and would be mind-numbingly dull.

But the idea gnawed away at me, and I realised that there's actually much to say. Not least of this is the fact that most sensible people, whether they'd normally be excited about cars or not, will of course get the cheapest deal they can find. No shame in that of course, but it leads to some deeply strange pairings of driver and vehicle. Of course, were money no object this would be a different story...but to all but the most affluent, finances are always going to play a part. I myself, someone with an obvious and professed interest in the internal combustion engine, have strode into a rental agency during a trip to the 'States to demand that a shiny Mustang convertible be brought out for me post-haste so that I may enjoy the full-fat Yank experience, to then get that uncomfortable itchy feeling upon seeing the price list and shuffle out, sheepishly clutching a signed receipt and the keys to some non-descript, wallowy 'sedan' (as our American friends insist on grandly rebranding the generic, three-boxes-in-a-row shape we know as the humble saloon). People who would normally be seen trolling about in lovingly maintained, 6 cylinder engined, rear wheel drive Germanic performance cars will be happy to hunch over the wheel of some tinny little hatchback that they wouldn't usually be seen dead near, let alone behind the wheel of.

And the most important word of that last sentence? "Happy". Because that's exactly what these people will be. Whether it's the whiff of sea in the air, the thrill of the open road, or even perhaps just the thought that they know that they went round that last roundabout the wrong way but that nobody else saw them, there's something about driving on holiday that makes it exciting...even when by all the normal standards it simply shouldn't be. It's like a whole new experience, even though the reality is probably that you're driving a slightly thrashed, base-specification car that happens to have the wheel where the passenger would usually sit.

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