Traffic

Strange exclusive concept - traffic. It’s always everyone else on the road that constitute traffic. How many times have  I heard the phrase "the traffic was dreadful”? Were you in a car? Were you in a queue with other cars? Hmmm … that dreadful traffic includes you!

Traffic takes on a life of its own when it reaches a certain density. There have been studies done of movement in traffic systems. Complex maths, chaos theories they've all been used to try and model traffic flow and the random nature of traffic jams. One factor they all have in common is that there is a critical mass beyond which the likelihood of a minor perturbation in flow at one point in the system will reverse propagate a wave of slowing and then stationary traffic. I really don’t care about the maths, I do care about the fact I can no longer make progress, even on my bike. 

If critical mass is one prerequiste to bring traffic to a standstill, channeling high volumes into confined spaces - i.e. towns & cities will precipitate the problem. Add a few roundabouts, traffic lights, traffic calming measures, busses, cyclists & pedestrians and traffic flow rapidly sets, like concrete. Anyone driving in town needs to have set out with expectation that their average progress may be barely faster than a nonagenarian picking their way along an uneven pavement with their zimmer frame.

Cars standing stationary when they really want to be moving guarantees random and sudden attempts to change lanes. Whilst this may make my life more exciting as I try and guess which vehicle might execute such as manoeuvre, I could do without the additional challenge. I’m already trying to ease a 250Kg motorbike balanced on a few square centimetres of rubber on an uneven surface at sub-walking speed through a queue of expensive metal boxes without scratching them or clipping wing mirrors.

Finally an added risk factor is boredom. Drivers read or text in their cars as they crawl onwards whilst they drift vaguely across lanes. Necessitating the sounding of horns alarming imminent contact to awake them to their peril. Who  can blame them? Cocooned in warmth, settled in comfortable seats, music playing so loud the door panels vibrate, isolated from reality - they could be at home on their sofas. Frankly, I wish they were, anywhere but sharing the same patch of road with me.

Traffic? Who? Me? 

Grad-u-aint

It’s a strange time of year. Packs of young people, ravenesque black gowns flapping, anachronistic headware in place, walking through town, filing into their collegiate halls. Parents and friends trailing on behind. The ceremony and speeches unchanged from last year, or the year before and probably several years before that, relying on the fact that reappearance at a such a ceremony is an unlikely occurrence. A short walk across stage, a handshake, the conferring of a simple slip of paper. Thus endeth student life.

The immediate realty is an unstructured life for most. No more lectures, studies, deadlines. Replaced by new urgencies; what to do next, how to do it, who with, where does the next cash injection come from? Polishing up the curriculum vitae, trying to write a convincing personal statement. So starts the the next phase. If they are lucky they will avoid the easy trap; the life of rat race bound wage slave. Is that really what it was all about? Perhaps for some that was the goal. But will others sidestep the confines of convention and carve their own path? And in so doing, hopefully drive onwards the boundaries of humanity. A new optimism? New views on old problems. Disruptive, but constructive. One can but hope so.