Driving Home

Spent Friday evening at Dad's place in Strathalbyn. Drove home through the hills under the watch of the full moon, making the pools of light - pushed forward by the low-beams like the bow-wave from a ship - almost superfluous.
Knickers dozed in the shotgun seat and the Noodle chewed on Oof in the back, his eyes wide at the unaccustomed hour.
I had a wrench of nostalgia, back fifteen years, to cruising the same ancient hills under the same ancient moon (and they don't look a day older) on my slightly less ancient Suzuki GSX. I remember turning the headlight off and twisting open the throttle, flashing through the moon shadows cast on bitumen by scraggly gums and roaring past, presumably, startled motorists heading home to warm beds. I remember the adrenalin, and the smell, and the cool wind in my face.

I remember I was a bloody idiot.

I see cocky young guys, and girls, doing stupid things in their Nissans and Subarus. Fearless. Immortal. Invincible. Selfish. I fear for the lives of my family and fear the future should my son and unborn child find a world they still share with the combustion engine when they are of driving age.

Should I think, 'There but for the grace of God...'?

No. I hope the cops catch them and punish them, their peers berate them and, if nothing else works, when the axe comes down it takes only them with it.

Didn't really start this as a rant against young people