Dating : The Commute

The car windows are frozen solid, I should have woken early. Moving carefully on the icy ground, I unlock the car, throw my bag unceremoniously in the boot, before flopping into the drivers seat. The engine coughs twice before putting in the effort and ticking over gruffly. The heater is turned to full, even so it will be minutes before it warms.

I shift into neutral.

Back out of the car, I fumble with the scraper across the windscreen. The first scrap does nothing, the second a little more. Despite the cold I am building up a sweat as I rhythmically lunge across the car, doing my best to clear my view.

With a clear band no wider than my arm forming, I decide to chance the wipers. They squeak perilously as they arc back and forth, back and forth. If I lean forwards I can just see the road. It will have to do.

I shift into first.

Taking the handbrake off, I crawl forward carefully, checking my neighbour’s cars remain still and silent. The radio is off, the engine hum minimal. I am alone on the street.

At the end of the road, I take a right. I barely slow down, confident I will be alone on the road, or I can stop in time if I am not. Immediately I am climbing a hill, and will the icy road I feel the tyres sliding. But I am committed now, work awaits me.

I shift into second.

At the top of the road I have to turn left. This time I slow a little, the road to my right is blind, the occupants of the house in the corner reckless when they drive. Once again there is nothing, so I carry on, turning to the right and gathering speed. This road is gritted, the traction better.

I shift into third.

I could drive at thirty here, but the road is narrow. Cars line both sides of the street, patiently waiting for their slumbering owners to return. Here and there, a space between cars. I dart in and out, allowing oncoming traffic to pass unhindered. Some people wave, most do not. Ungrateful bastards.

I shift into fourth.

I am gathering speed. There is no traffic ahead, I need to make up time.

And then they pull out suddenly, smug and entitled and with not a care in the world beyond their own importance.

I break hard. Tyres screech. The belt pinches my chest and belly. There are just inches between us when I finally stop. Horns blare, a finger is raised, he skids off at speed to his next near accident.

I shift back to first, second, third, fourth.

At the top of the hill, another junction, left again, and straight into traffic.

I shift down to second, first, I coast.

There are two points on my journey where traffic likes to gather, this is the first. Most mornings it is a blessing, a chance to pause and a chance to think. More often than not Mr Greybeard is walking his dog. It is a small Jack Russell, bold and yappy. They walk side by side, they both know the route. I dread the day one of them is no longer there. Today is not that day. Me Greybeard is wrapped from head to foot in wool, Jack Russell is sporting his finest blue coat. I want to smile and wave, but our relationship is one sided. To me they are Jack and Greybeard. To them, I am nothing but an in distinct car in a queue. We are moving again.

I shift into second, third.

At the crossroads I have a sharp left turn.

I shift back to second.

My car is small, agile, nimble. It can take the turn on one, I laugh at those who need a second chance. Today I am the only one turning, I am around in one and accelerating again.

I shift into third, fourth, fifth.

For the first time I am cruising. The road is wider, the speed forty. Traffic is light here, despite the row of houses lining each side. I wonder as always when these people go to work. Have they left before me? Am I the late riser? The road bends to the right but I do not slow, I know it will be clear, I have no time to waste now.

Another junction, traffic light controlled. They are at green, I am committed.

I shift down to second.

I turn to the left. There is a line of traffic but it is moving.

I shift into third.

We are bumper to bumper, I should leave more distance. A sizeable dint on the car in front pats tribute to the last foolhardy fellow road-user.

I shift into fourth.

The pavements seems getting busy now. There is a school up ahead, and identikit students in grey and black are marching in step to the first lesson of the day. A boy darts forward, I touch the break gingerly. He thinks again and stops. I continue at pace.

At the end of the road is the first and only roundabout. Traffic has built, ten cars deep. I slow gradually, no need in rushing.

I shift down to third, second, first.

Today is a good day, despite the ice. The cars keep moving, never still. I am tenth, ninth, eighth. I check the clock, with luck I will be on time. Fourth, third, second. I look to the right, calculate my spot. I am first. I am moving.

I shift into second.

The first exit is mine, the road double lanes.

I shift into third, fourth, fifth.

The traffic seems light today, ice keeping people wrapped warmly in bed. By my tuning I am speeding, eyes darting from windscreen to mirror, always alert to the flash of blue, ears pricked to the wail of sirens. Whether it is the speed or the illegality I cannot be sure, but the thrill as I race in the outside lane is palpable. I press harder on the pedal, my engine roars, I will it on, more, more, more.

But I have a slip road to take, off to the right. I slow just a little, the corner is wide. Beyond, the tall yellow terror, killjoys of the road. It is forty once more, I slow before the first box catches my pace. One camera, two cameras, three cameras. The needle hovers carefully at 39. And then I am passed, and once more I am moving, my oppressors behind me.

The final set not traffic lights are red, to my dismay. I was making good time, now I must pause and wait.

I shift down to third, first.

The engine is ticking as my interlude passes. From left and from right, cars begin to move, to turn, they are on their way. Yet I am held, the glaring red warning me, controlling me. I could move again, disobey the rules. Speeding is one thing, jumping a red quite the other. I wait, it is only seconds more.

Amber, green.

Foot off the break, onto the accelerator.

I shift into second, third, fourth.

My end is in sight now, the office awaits. The car park is looming on the right, the barrier raised to permit those who arrives before me. I slow in the road, moving more to the centre.

I shift down to second, first.

A column of cars if passing in the other direction, barring temporarily my passage. I wait and I wait, choosing my gap. One car length, too little, three car lengths, better. With a jolt and a hop I dart across the road. The barrier rises swiftly, I am arrived.

The carpark is gravel, it crunches loudly under rubber. I crawl and I look, a gap here, space there. My car slots neatly between two 4x4s. Engine off, handbrake on, hair checked in the mirror, I slide out and retrieve my bag. As I walk towards the office I look back at my car. It looks puny, an upstart, daring to be in their mighty presence. Yet I know it has got my where I wanted to be a hundred times and more, and I know it will get my round the sharp bend tomorrow in one turn. Can the 4×4 say the same? I think not.