This might shock you, but I don’t enjoy driving. Well, not as much as I used to anyway. Allow me to explain.
I drive a 1983 Toyota Supra. But when I'm really in the mood to incinerate petrol, I drive my 1975 Chevrolet 4100 LS. It's a South African take on an American Muscle car built on a German saloon, and it has a French name. So, a real global car then.
It has both a love of 95 octane by the way it relishes it, and a hate for it too by way of how quickly it vaporizes it thanks to a cutting-edge-for-1975 combination of three traits. That's a capacious 4.1 litre engine, a buttery three-speed automatic transmission and finally the fact that it glugs unleaded via a fat old carburettor.
Infamously inefficient yet, the price of admission is most certainly worth the reward, as my fiancée and I reaffirmed on a recent trip from Stellenbosch to Darling and back. The long way around, so 250km or R500 in fuel - however you choose to measure it. It was bliss, with onlookers and on-comers enjoying the visuals of an old shiny girl like my Chevy more than keeping up with newer, lighter metal. Smiles for miles. It would not last.
The cold hard reality circa 2018
We all used to be so happy to be mobile. I refer to the first time I drove a 4100, my dad's, in the early 90s. There were fewer of us motorists around then I think, so being a driver was a privilege and almost a private joke we shared, or insider knowledge – however you cared to look at it.
That meant treating each other better I think, courtesy, community. Now it's like we all hate each other - tailgating one another, cutting each other off, hooting and flipping the bird. It breaks my heart. So I generally stick to driving my old cars on my side of the world, or deeper into the country where metal boxes on wheels are sparse.
I also almost exclusively ride my bicycle on the mountain where I'm less likely to be murdered. It's a shame, there just doesn't seem to be any camaraderie left any more. It used to be such a joy. We used to hoot and wave and flash our lights at each other when we had similar cars or thought we knew each other or simply because it was a Monday. I miss that. I'm sorry if I've come across all sad. It's only because I am.
What now?
Well, far from being the sort to take out my misery on my fellow drivers I've decided to do the opposite. To begin an initiative. To spread the joy of driving with a smile on my face, to be courteous and not to be disheartened when nobody else does the same. To bring back the camaraderie, ‘carmaraderie’ if you like. And to make every drive a Sunday drive which for me doesn't mean dropping pace, just appreciating the magic that goes into piloting an automobile.
Will you do the same?
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