My car - Ramblings

The ignition key rotates in its slot putting pressure on a spring mechanism, in turn triggering an electronic signal to fire down a set of wiring to a small electronic motor. This motor or ‘starter motor’ is connected to a set of pistons, spark plugs and fuel injectors, causing the fuel injectors to inject, the spark plugs to spark and the pistons (due to the aforementioned sparks igniting the fuel that has just been injected) to pump . These pistons are directly connected to a single crankshaft, which has as a counterweight a flywheel at one end.

This chain reaction is the beginning of something magical, something astonishing, a cacophony of noise and vibration which powers and motivates our world. That small metal key depressing that spring starts our day, takes us to work, allows us to earn our living, takes us home, takes us to the store so that we can spend our earnings on our upkeep.

Though, thinking about it, that small key depressing that spring is a status symbol. It’s desirable. It’s good looking and has a spoiler. It has sporting pretentions, no, it is sporty. It has double wish-bone suspension and heated seats. It has a premium badge and cost me significantly more than a similar model from another company which means it is rare and exclusive.

It has adaptive cruise control that continually monitors your speed and revs. It has two overhead camshafts and butterfly valves in the exhaust outlets. It has low profile tyres. And, to be honest, I have no idea what any of that means. The salesman said it when I was in the showroom along with adjectives like refined, dynamic, efficient, phosphorescent. That last one was to do with the headlights I think.

I’ve now owned it for four months. I’ve got used to it; the electronic buzz of the driver’s seat automatically assuming your driving position; the way the proximity alarm resonates throughout when you’re parking; the metallic crack/thunk of the central locking. Usually it just has a gentle surge of acceleration, as all six cylinders vibrate joyously, the pistons within rampantly dancing on cue to my right foot on the pedal. A whim, an impulse, a sudden urge to depress the pedal completely is all it takes and the gentle surge becomes an avalanche of acceleration, the pistons’ dance turns into an orgy of movement and noise. Onlookers tend to raise their eyebrows. Either in awe or annoyance, I’m not quite sure which though I’ll imagine the former. It’s not perfect. I don’t understand half the things on it. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.