A while back I maligned my new car. To be fair, the car does have some strong points. Chief among them are its speed and finely balanced handling.
If you drive a fast car that sticks to the road like glue, you can take hairpin turns at twice the suggested speed. You can accelerate to 100 mph on freeway on-ramps before slowing down to merge into traffic. You can pass anyone, anytime, anywhere. You can exit the parking lot at Geoffrey's Malibu without getting crushed by on-coming traffic on PCH.
Most of all, you can master the power weave.
The power weave is the art of driving at least 20 mph faster than the cars around you by weaving in and out of lanes, constantly seeking daylight and avoiding slow-moving obstructions. The power weave requires a car with a hair trigger on the accelerator and the ability to swing laterally in the blink of an eye.
You may have seen power weavers before; if so, chances are they were amateurs. A master power weaver never draws attention to himself; his high degree of skill enables him to minimize lane changes, stay as far away from other cars as possible and maintain a smooth steady speed. The master never flashes his brights or hits his horn. The master never tailgates. The master treats all four lanes as his canvas, he sees around curves, he is always thinking four or five lane changes ahead, he is one with his car, he doesn't want another speeding ticket.
If I'm in master mode, power weaving my way home from a late night at the office, the most you'll see is a blur out of the corner of your eye as I emerge from the darkness behind you and disappear over the horizon, leaving nary a ripple in my wake.
Power weavers prefer darker cars, the better to blend into the night. Power weavers fantasize about the Autobahn. Power weavers turn off the stereo, minimizing distractions. Power weavers, hopped up on adrenaline, never fall asleep at the wheel. Power weavers never fight traffic, giving up the weave once traffic slows below 55 mph or so.
Power weavers -- even the masters -- are idiots for risking so much for so little, if you think about it, but then who among us is perfect?
Don't let the Llamas get you down, doc. Us power weavers just gotta be thankful that most will never understand that driving is a sport.
Living in a modern city in CA deprives me of one of my favorite aspects of the sport, one that I used to love in my Green Bay youth: timing the signals. Here, all of the major lights are triggered and timed by traffic conditions. Back in those pre-computer dark ages, you could learn the timing of every light in town, and end up beating a "direct route" driver by very significant times by sneaking off this way, or cutting through that way, and planning on a right-on-red here and knowing of an extra long yellow there. For better or worse, those days are gone, long gone.
... until I move to Casper. HA ha ha.
-jra
Posted by: kobekko | November 18, 2004 at 09:38 PM