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Come Sail Away
Jan. 9th, 2009 09:27 amWhile driving to work this morning, watching the sunrise and listening to the Trance Euphoria podcast, I flashed on a fantasy that's been with me since I could drive, if not before.
In that fantasy, I'm cruising down the Interstate at standard driving speeds, waiting for a nice gap in the cars before and behind me. At the right moment, I reach down to the center console and hit the switch that activates the repulsor pads in the undercarriage.
As the aft thrusters warm up, I feel the small jerk that tells me that the wheels have lost contact with the ground. I hit the button that folds them away into the fenders, bring the thrusters up to 200 MPH, and climb into the sky, arriving at work in 15 minutes instead of 50.
That little vignette hits me on almost any drive longer than 20 minutes. I love visiting all sorts of places... it's the actual getting there that I often find so tedious. Needless to say, mine would be the only car that could do this, otherwise there'd be flaming wrecks scattered across the landscape. (And not always other people's fault, either: last night I almost broadsided someone because I was thinking about my grocery list rather than the road. Bad Borg.)
In that fantasy, I'm cruising down the Interstate at standard driving speeds, waiting for a nice gap in the cars before and behind me. At the right moment, I reach down to the center console and hit the switch that activates the repulsor pads in the undercarriage.
As the aft thrusters warm up, I feel the small jerk that tells me that the wheels have lost contact with the ground. I hit the button that folds them away into the fenders, bring the thrusters up to 200 MPH, and climb into the sky, arriving at work in 15 minutes instead of 50.
That little vignette hits me on almost any drive longer than 20 minutes. I love visiting all sorts of places... it's the actual getting there that I often find so tedious. Needless to say, mine would be the only car that could do this, otherwise there'd be flaming wrecks scattered across the landscape. (And not always other people's fault, either: last night I almost broadsided someone because I was thinking about my grocery list rather than the road. Bad Borg.)
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