I was starting to think I was just really busy, starting to feel as though I was neglecting my duties.
I was beginning to feel that maybe I didn't have anything to say, that the inner voice had dried up. The flame of speed had gone out, my drive to drive had been fulfilled. Turns out after some time had passed, my little cage had just been rattled a bit.
I take the quest for the wheel very seriously, I do it with the utmost devotion. I prefer no cup holders, navigation, or distractions that take away from the joy of the craft, loud music and 3 pedals when available.
Unfortunately for me the Emerald city ranks in the top 5 for traffic and bad drivers.
During a recent commute in the Brown bomber I had the misfortune of encountering one of proud distracted ones. I don't know what one has to do to make certain decisions, a lack of planning, needing an updated navigation disc, beleriing groms in the back seats. Either way, the art of driving was left in the trash bin along with a third or fourth mocha that day.
As I saw the left front wheel twitch into it's arch and the taillights flicker. I knew that my trip was about to become considerably longer that day. As there was little time to maneuver and considerably less space. I grabbed the fat pedal, turned into the direction they where going and hoped I wasn't able to remove the front clip from a WRX along the way.
After the dust settled and all the fingers where counted, Seattle got to keep their fire hydrant and telephone pole. I got a check for my inconvenience, a rental car and the chance to find a new daily. Somebody got a reminder why you don't turn left from the right lane on a one way street and a hefty insurance bill from now on. The guy in the Subaru got a show and nobody got hurt.
Thankfully I wasn't driving the Black Pearl that day, I'd like to keep out of jail.
Making driving an art is for everyone with the right to practice it, so with practice it becomes an art.
Not a right.
