Here is the scene:
It was twice a weekday, morning and evening, I’d drive down the Canada HWY 1 in an old Honda station-wagon hatchback from 89.
Take a picture of that, as i did every now and then, stopping on the side of the road. something is missing.
Look closely at the image, all twelve mega-pixels worth, see the rough texture of the dashboard as i drive, or the rusty edges of the hood. The image is clear, but the experience and emotion is lost.
That is not the emotion created while driving in the Honda (Goof-Troop, i called it).
To have the full experience, you need the thick drone of the tries against the pavement, the occasional squeaks in the shocks. You need the raspy hum of the motor, and vibrating rattle of the doors and windows. it all feels incomplete without that whirring fan pumping the hot air around my legs to save me from Canadian Winter. now that’s the picture i can’t take. there is the moment.
I think of it and how i can look at the pictures and miss the noise that i use my iPod and headphones to do away with when i drive.