"Glorious, stirring sight!" murmured Toad, never offering to move. "The poetry of motion! The real way to travel! The only way to travel! Here today--in next week tomorrow! Villages skipped, towns and cities jumped--always somebody else's horizon! O bliss! O poop-poop! O my! O my!"
"O stop being an ass, Toad!" cried the Mole despairingly.
"And to think I never knew!" went on the Toad in a dreamy monotone. "All those wasted years that lie behind me, I never knew, never even dreamt! But now--but now that I know, now that I fully realise! O what a flowery track lies spread before me, henceforth! What dust-clouds shall spring up behind me as I speed on my reckless way! What carts I shall fling carelessly into the ditch in the wake of my magnificent onset! Horrid little carts--common carts--canary-coloured carts!"
The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame (1908)
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Booth Tarkington on automobiles
"With all their speed forward [automobiles] may be a step backward in civilization--that is, in spiritual civilization.
It may be that they will not add to the beauty of the world, nor to the life of men's souls. I am not sure. But automobiles have come, and they bring a greater change in our life than most of us suspect. They are here, and almost all outward things are going to be different because of what they bring. They are going to alter war, and they are going to alter peace.
I think men's minds are going to be changed in subtle ways because of automobiles; just how, though, I could hardly guess. But you can't have the immense outward changes that they will cause without some inward ones, and it may be that . . . the spiritual alteration will be bad for us.
Perhaps, ten or twenty years from now, if we can see the inward change in men by that time, I shouldn't be able to defend the gasoline engine, but would have to agree . . . that automobiles 'had no business to be invented.'"
The Magnificent Ambersons (1918)
It may be that they will not add to the beauty of the world, nor to the life of men's souls. I am not sure. But automobiles have come, and they bring a greater change in our life than most of us suspect. They are here, and almost all outward things are going to be different because of what they bring. They are going to alter war, and they are going to alter peace.
I think men's minds are going to be changed in subtle ways because of automobiles; just how, though, I could hardly guess. But you can't have the immense outward changes that they will cause without some inward ones, and it may be that . . . the spiritual alteration will be bad for us.
Perhaps, ten or twenty years from now, if we can see the inward change in men by that time, I shouldn't be able to defend the gasoline engine, but would have to agree . . . that automobiles 'had no business to be invented.'"
The Magnificent Ambersons (1918)
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Dogged Is My Co-Pilot
I know a better way.
Go this way.
Watch this guy.
Here's your turn.
Let this guy in.
Don't let this guy in.
He's letting you go.
He's not letting you go.
Turn here, turn here.
Turn now.
Watch out for this guy.
You're okay.
This is your turn.
This is the exit, get off here.
Are you watching that guy?
Turn left.
Turn right.
Stop sign.
Stop light.
It's green, go.
It's yellow, go for it.
Goose it, you can make it.
Why are you going so slow?
How fast are you going?
Go, go, go!
Stop, stop, stop!
(gasp)
(press imaginary brake pedal to the floor)
(frustrated sigh)
Go this way.
Watch this guy.
Here's your turn.
Let this guy in.
Don't let this guy in.
He's letting you go.
He's not letting you go.
Turn here, turn here.
Turn now.
Watch out for this guy.
You're okay.
This is your turn.
This is the exit, get off here.
Are you watching that guy?
Turn left.
Turn right.
Stop sign.
Stop light.
It's green, go.
It's yellow, go for it.
Goose it, you can make it.
Why are you going so slow?
How fast are you going?
Go, go, go!
Stop, stop, stop!
(gasp)
(press imaginary brake pedal to the floor)
(frustrated sigh)
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Not That I Ever Worry About It
Four confirmed dead, up to 30 missing in US bridge collapse (Yahoo/AFP)
Divers combed the dark, debris-strewn waters of the Mississipi river Thursday searching for up to 30 people missing after a major bridge collapsed at rush hour, killing at least four people.
Officials expected the death toll to rise, with dozens of cars and trucks dumped in the river after massive sections of the eight-lane bridge roadway were sheared off Wednesday evening in this midwestern US city.
After four hours of frantic rescue efforts before nightfall Wednesday, the head of the fire department Jim Clack said more than 60 people were taken to hospital and it was unlikely that any more survivors would be found.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
The Trees Stand Alone
Crossing Natural Bridge Road on McKelvey Road--which becomes Bonfils at that point--passing the nearly defunct Carrollton Shopping Center, and the King Pin Lanes bowling alley which was probably quite popular back in the day, you are in what was once a subdivision and is now gradually being cleared for the Lambert Airport expansion.
A handful of sixties-era ranch homes remain, boarded up, gutters drooping. All are scheduled for demolition, but it appears there's no hurry at present. The streets are cracked and weedy, and most street signs are gone.
A few houses are still occupied, most on the far side of I-270. A sign marks Brumley and Bondurant and two houses float in the vasty green, cars parked in front. Sometimes it's hard to tell if a house is vacant. I feel sad for the people who may have treasured their homes there and never expected to leave.
The trees stand tall; hemlocks and holly mark walks and property boundaries that no longer exist. A fair number of rosebushes bloom, unperturbed. Acres and acres of deep emerald vista, a green screen.
When I'm in the area I like to slowly wheel through streets overhung with unpruned branches that slap at the windshield. A windchime tings somewhere. I wish the trees could remain.
A handful of sixties-era ranch homes remain, boarded up, gutters drooping. All are scheduled for demolition, but it appears there's no hurry at present. The streets are cracked and weedy, and most street signs are gone.
A few houses are still occupied, most on the far side of I-270. A sign marks Brumley and Bondurant and two houses float in the vasty green, cars parked in front. Sometimes it's hard to tell if a house is vacant. I feel sad for the people who may have treasured their homes there and never expected to leave.
The trees stand tall; hemlocks and holly mark walks and property boundaries that no longer exist. A fair number of rosebushes bloom, unperturbed. Acres and acres of deep emerald vista, a green screen.
When I'm in the area I like to slowly wheel through streets overhung with unpruned branches that slap at the windshield. A windchime tings somewhere. I wish the trees could remain.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
When I Am Worse
When I have a passenger in the car I am almost always a worse driver, especially in street traffic. I'm fine on the interstate, for long trips and all.
But somehow the presence of another person--who is of course a driver and a sort of tacit copilot--causes a certain nervous boldness, a tendency to take corners a bit harder, stop a little shorter. I certainly don't want them to think I drive too slowly, that I can't get them there on time.
Sometimes I ask not to talk when I'm driving. Occasionally I'll explain that I'm a slow driver. Sometimes that makes my passengers fidgety. Maybe it's not my speed.
But somehow the presence of another person--who is of course a driver and a sort of tacit copilot--causes a certain nervous boldness, a tendency to take corners a bit harder, stop a little shorter. I certainly don't want them to think I drive too slowly, that I can't get them there on time.
Sometimes I ask not to talk when I'm driving. Occasionally I'll explain that I'm a slow driver. Sometimes that makes my passengers fidgety. Maybe it's not my speed.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Cluster Bombs
What I call a cluster bomb is a phalanx of cars, most often on the interstate, that form a close pack some four or five cars wide and three or four deep.
There is no standard name for this phenomenon: cars grouping a length or less apart when the traffic would permit more distance. It's like a school of fish, a flock of birds, a swarm of bees. It hangs together.
I avoid cluster bombs, let the whole roaring mass flow around me. But perhaps some drivers enjoy the proximity of other cars, the hivelike sound of cars to the left, cars to the right, cars ahead and behind. Maybe it feels like you're part of a team. The sound of speed nearby is stimulating, like the sound of a locomotive or jet engine, and your right foot gets heavy in response. Let's go, go, all of us go.
To increase speed is to say Yes.
You have to drive at cluster speed, so perhaps it confers group security against being pulled over. It allows a sort of group bullying, too--sometimes it's hard to avoid being flanked by cars and swept along.
Interstate 270 south of US 40 takes a long steep downhill slide to the valley of I-44. Interstate 44 itself has a particularly pitched pass near Six Flags (enough said), and Interstate 55 south is like a roller coaster between the Gravois and Gasconade exits.
A cluster bomb going downhill is a metal landslide, five lanes and many tons of momentum. The stuff that pileups are made of.
Driving less than a car's length from other cars seems patently lethal to me, which is why I keep my distance. Is it possible some drivers feel safer?
There is no standard name for this phenomenon: cars grouping a length or less apart when the traffic would permit more distance. It's like a school of fish, a flock of birds, a swarm of bees. It hangs together.
I avoid cluster bombs, let the whole roaring mass flow around me. But perhaps some drivers enjoy the proximity of other cars, the hivelike sound of cars to the left, cars to the right, cars ahead and behind. Maybe it feels like you're part of a team. The sound of speed nearby is stimulating, like the sound of a locomotive or jet engine, and your right foot gets heavy in response. Let's go, go, all of us go.
To increase speed is to say Yes.
You have to drive at cluster speed, so perhaps it confers group security against being pulled over. It allows a sort of group bullying, too--sometimes it's hard to avoid being flanked by cars and swept along.
Interstate 270 south of US 40 takes a long steep downhill slide to the valley of I-44. Interstate 44 itself has a particularly pitched pass near Six Flags (enough said), and Interstate 55 south is like a roller coaster between the Gravois and Gasconade exits.
A cluster bomb going downhill is a metal landslide, five lanes and many tons of momentum. The stuff that pileups are made of.
Driving less than a car's length from other cars seems patently lethal to me, which is why I keep my distance. Is it possible some drivers feel safer?
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