Speed (2012-06-16)

I was on my way back from the grand opening of a water treatment plant that I’d designed.  This one had been a long and twisted road.  The design I’d first committed to paper was only know being christened complete – 5 long years later.  But the final was reached and the treated water was not distributed from the reservoir.

I hit the highway with a brief screech of tires and sudden acceleration.  There was traffic oncoming and I wanted to get out in front of it.

I settled in behind a 4 door Volkswagen sedan, on the four lane stretch that ran past the village.  The speed limit was slowed for the sake of the towns people, but only to 90 lm/h.  Soon the sign said 110 again and my foot hit the accelerator.

The traffic that had been oncoming, as I pulled out onto the road, soon passed on the left.  The pair that were in a hurry were a black Range Rover and another 4-day grey sedan that was lumbering to keep up.

I pondered my options.  I had the time, I could loaf back in the pack with the Volkswagen.  Or I could press down on the accelerator and match the speed of this high-flying Range Rover as it steamed on towards the city at a high rate.

I made my choice.  A snarl erupted from my tailpipe as I lunged forward past the Volkwagen.

Right off the move, the Range Rover seemed like a fussy driver.  I settled in behind it at a comfortable 150 km/h and was content to just cruise like this the rest of the way home.  But the snotty driver got it in his head that he was too good for a caravan, and tried to zoom away.

Serious?

It took barely more effort than tot swat a fly, for me to accelerate, and again be behind the lumbering wagon.  I wasn’t following close, instead choosing to stay far enough back that you could no longer read the Range Rover’s license plate.  I wasn’t trying to make anyone uncomfortable, I just wanted the cover of a group to hide my speed.

Still behind us struggled the grey sedan vainly.  Wanting to stay with the lead dog, but clearly not up for the task.

This attempt to pull away was repeated twice more, as we rocketed towards civilization on the 4 lanes of blacktop.  Once after having passed the procession of charity bike riders, who in a large group crawled along the highway on their bicycles.  A motorhome signaled the rear of their procession.  A multi-axle truck signaled the lead.  When we were clear of their hazard, the Range Rover burst forward again, trying to break free.

Like a fisherman with a reel, I pulled it back in again.  The effort no more troubling than reading one of the signposts that went by like a picket fence.

The third time he tried to pull away, I was lost in a reverie of what was playing on the radio.  I can’t even recall at this moment anymore what it was that held my attention.  Nevertheless when I looked up the Range Rover had zipped ahead of me, and now I would have to be serious if I wanted to close the gap.

For some reason I got angry.  It may have been the temerity of thinking that a lumbering wagon like a Range Rover could out-speed my V-8 Mustang.  That probably was it, but when my foot pressed that accelerator to the floor this time, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the Range Rover was not going to get away.

The speedometer did not jump to attention with my foot.  My car itself seemed to have been lulled to sleep at a drowsy 150 km/h.  But after a few seconds of my foot to the floorboard, it seemed to rouse from its dreamy reverie.  The relentlessness of my intent was finally impressed, and the needle started turning towards the end point.

First came 160.  I held steady on the accelerator.  170 came soon enough on its own.  Still I did not relent.  Now was 180 and the Range Rover was firmly in sight and getting closer. 

A decision needed to be made.  My purpose was to catch that lumber wagon.  But as the needle hit 190 km/h I felt a giddy headiness wrap itself around my brain.  The Range Rover was being effortlessly reeled in, like the garden hose after you finish watering the lawn, but I didn’t really care about that anymore.  I was driving faster than I ever had before, and there seemed no exhaustion of the supply of speed.

I went passed the Range Rover like another might have passed a picket fence.  I felt alive like few things in life will ever make you feel.  I screamed “Good Bye” as my position passed his, and still I hammered onward towards home.  The first few markers of reaching home were just peeking forward in my view.  But I did not relent.

The dial hit 200.  I had never known anything this fast.  The car was not concerned about the velocity we were travelling.  It actually seemed to be having fun.  The tailpipe was snarling, like a satisfied animal with its kill.  The wind was whipping past the canopy, making a whistling noise that I’d only ever witnessed in an airplane.

Still I raged onward.  The pressure of my foot on the accelerator was now in a dangerous game of chicken with my sense of fear.  How far would I push this?  When would I lose my nerve?

The speedometer now read 210 km/h.  I had never travelled this fast in a car before.  My foot was down on the accelerator, but the car was getting towards the outer reaches of its ability.  The pace of the needle was slowly, though my foot did not move from the gas pedal.  My home city rose up in front of me with alarming rapidness, but I did not relent.

The needle wavered at 210.  Did I want to push this any further?  Could I face more fear?  The signs of the city were all around me as I travelled near twice the speed limit.  Was there anything more to prove?

I felt the sense of exhilaration in my chest.  It was an exultation; energy in my heart that I couldn’t put there by any other means.  The joy and the excitement, it forced me to go onward.  But the wavering of the needle at 210 made a cold sense of fear creep up from my belly towards the white hot sun in my chest.  It cooled the molten exhilaration into icy stings of fear.

My foot pulled back.  Fear had won.  I watched as the needle began to fall slowly back towards sanity.

It was a little surreal, how 150 km/h now felt slow, after the rarified air I had just touched.  It had been only seconds but I felt like I’d touched something special.  As I took the turn into the city, of lights, stop signs and right turns, I felt oddly relaxed.  To come to rest at a stop light felt like a story ending.  But that brief few moments would live with me forever.