Driving

We drove twelve hours home on Friday - crossing the centre of the United States from the top almost to the bottom. Rather than a whopping 80 km/h, I drove at almost 80 miles/h for many of the hours. And I didn't have to pray a single time that I'd finish the drive without injuring or killing anyone.

In fact, I could drive on automatic the whole way. Hour after hour we passed through rolling hills of plush green along a smooth, straight black top. I didn't have to see a single person for miles at a time, unless you count the times I glanced into cars just to make sure.

I checked the woods and fields for monkeys, baboons - any animal really - but aside from an odd herd of reindeer, a lone deer and countless cows, I didn't spot anything. And none of the cows ran at us as we passed, or crossed in front of us. And none of them decided to take a stroll, en mass, along our road.





I didn't have to swerve for any gaping potholes, squawking chickens, or hastily removed toddlers playing by the side of the road.

I didn't have to toot at goats or pigs foraging on the road, young men lolling on the edge, or super overloaded lorries trundling along while hogging the centre.

There was no maneuvering between dual streams of bicyclists, loaded high and wide with swaths of elephant grass, sacks of grain, goods displayed for sale, baskets rising like a mountain over the bicyclist, 3 or more people - you name it.

 

There were no ladies with babies on their backs hauling buckets of water or firewood on their heads. No markets teeming with people, animals and stalls sprawled on the road in front of me.

Altogether, it was an extremely boring, albeit beautiful, drive.