We passed a car today with the driver’s window down.
It was enough odd to see this on the 5th of February, at full speed on the freeway; but it’s something one just doesn’t see any more.
Instead, we roll up and down the highways and freeways, and the streets and avenues, contained in our little micro environments of perfect temperature, dampened outside noise, and personally selected audio programs. The things we listen to aren’t even from a local radio either. We have satellite radio, or play lists bluetoothed from our phones.
The outside world surrounding the cars today makes little difference to the occupants inside.
Growing up when the AC units on cars weren’t so great so people rolled downed their windows to keep the car from overheating, and the laws allowed people to ride in the back of pick-ups, and you could only listen to local radio stations f available, I felt more connected to the roads we traveled. The miserable sensations of the trip burned a few of them into my memory so deep, I can still recall them so many years later.
That was then, this is now. Unless you ride a motorcycle.
Riding in the open air, you are keenly aware of the outside temperature. You know if it is raining, if the wind is blowing, or if the cows are gassing. You feel the different temperature pockets, like the cool air next to a field that is being watered. Or the heat of the afternoon sun on your neck. Or the force of the splat of the bug on the forehead.
You feel connected. You’re a part of the process, not alien to it.
Next time you see a motorcycle on the road, roll down that window and join us back in the world. And in the misery you’re missing out on.