I was oncall for work until 1:00 PM today. It's been a terrible seven days and once the oncall shift ended, I mentally checked out. I stuck around until about 4:45, but hightailed it out there.
Because it was a good day for a drive to the south.
I had to go to Chinatown anyway to get some groceries, so I was heading southbound anyway. But I figured if there was one thing to do today it was to follow the overhead wires of the 7 bus and get to the magic land of Rainier Beach that it had on its rollsign.
It was a good day for a drive to the south.
Nevermind the fact that no one seemed to have any idea how to describe the weather today. The dude on the radio said it was balmy and muggy, which made no sense. The gage on the car said it was 76, which seemed like an outright lie. It was cold, until it was suddenly steaming hot, with a chilling wind. It was like what it's like to be sick. Maybe I'm sick? Is that why I'm not feeling it?
So I set forth down Rainier Ave and just kept going until I hit Renton and decided it was high time to turn back. There were houses and strip malls. I raced a minivan. A homeless man whooped whenever a light would change.
But at the end was the an amazing vista out of over Lake Washington, dotted with tiny cottages, facing the monstrosities on Mercer Island.
I think there's something curative about driving. I view my car as a total luxury. I don't need it, I could make do without it, but I enjoy it. Contrast this with my father, who just really literally cannot fathom the lack of a car. But he doesn't enjoy it the same way I do.
When I drive, I do so largely on my own accord. I don't need to get anywhere in any particular hurry, usually, so it's majorly relaxing.
But come to think of it, why are we as humans able to drive? What part of our evolutionary history selected for us being able to maneuver a vehicle at several times greater than our sustained running speed?
I wouldn't give it up, because it was a good day for a drive to the south.