by clicking the arrows at the side of the page, or by using the toolbar.
by clicking anywhere on the page.
by dragging the page around when zoomed in.
by clicking anywhere on the page when zoomed in.
web sites or send emails by clicking on hyperlinks.
Email this page to a friend
Search this issue
Index - jump to page or section
Archive - view past issues
Journeys : Aug Sep 2012
www.audioclinictas.com.au THE WORLD’S SMALLEST FULLY WIRELESS HEARING AID Call 1800 057 220 to arrange your personal demonstration and FREE hearing check-up (valued at $90) $500 DISCOUNT TO JOURNEYS READERS Present this advertisement at test appointment to receive a $500 discount off your Intiga purchase. (Discount applies to a pair of Intiga 10 or Intiga 8 devices . Not available with any other offer) Audio Clinic Tasmania is very pleased to introduce Intiga, a new and incredibly comfortable, high performance hearing solution that’s fashionably discreet and virtually invisible. With new digital technology, hear clearly and effortlessly in virtually all situations. - Across Tasmania Life on the move T he problem w ith speeding, of course, is that it’s not just about speed, any more than automobiles are just about mobility. A motor vehicle is about emotion as well as motion, sport as much as transport, and empowerment way beyond mere power. Because when it comes to getting your personal motor running, cars rule. The driver’s seat is our first real taste of the raw stuff, the heady whiff of command and control. And it’s ours from the moment that the old man gives us the okay to “get the car out” or “warm the engine” or some similar pretext. We’ve just been given the key to the door of the family Holden, and to life. We lurch the wagon down the driveway and out onto the tarmac, and launch ourselves into the world. It’s a buzz, a rush, an entirely new variety of kick in the pants. A couple of days later, that buzz gets a boost when we lurch down the driveway after the old man has said nothing of the kind. A nd wasn’t even home when he didn’t say it. From that initial thrill ride, cars quickly became something else again. About freedom from public transport, and better yet, from parents. The freedom to go wherever, whenever and whyever. The freedom to be free. Once you own a car – well, that kicks- in life’s turbocharger. Now you’ve got independence and pr ivacy, as well as a room with a changing view. And it’s yours, somewhere to keep your stuff that’s not in your parents’ home, somewhere to take girls that your brother isn’t. He can’t snicker outside a door that’s doing 80 kays down the Brooker. Now, we’re the front seat supremo. We call the shots, select speed and determine direction and destination. We decide who’s going, and who’s going nowhere. We are masters of the metal, of the music, of the drive-up menu. Hell, we’re masters of the universe. Mastering the universe, one wheel at a time Mike Kerr muses on young people and cars – and recalls a youthful experience of his own BenSmith–shutterstock.com For me, that door to liberty came in the unlikely for m of a Morris Minor, an utterly inoffensive ladybug of a car that might have had three horsepower under the bonnet. The Minor was the Pride and Joy of the mother of my friend Jim. We, of course, were minors too, but much lower on the P and J scale. Jim and Mike’s outings – unauthorised, every one of them – began with some serious sphincter-tightening as we coasted that little four-seater out of his mum’s driveway. We’d engage just the starter motor (ask a mechanic) until we were part way down the street, and then those three horses could be quietly conscripted and our f light gain some speed. Away and down that hill, Jim at the helm of our getaway vehicle, our gr ins widened with each passing neighbour’s driveway and then passing streets, and ultimately, swelled into pure elation when the last shackles of suburbia were shed. We had escaped. We were free. Better yet, we’ d taken charge of our own lives. For the first time, there was a gut-deep sense that we had control. It wasn’t about speed, but mobility. Direction mattered little, just as long as we were leav ing that place of our childhood confinement. For a couple of small-tow n boys, the vehicle’s power was not that of cubic centimetres, but the fact that it got us out of there. The Morris, it can be admitted now, came close to taking out a couple of guideposts on the never-ending S-bend that is the Channel Highway. This is what happens when teenagers get into an arm-wrestling competition w ith 1940s British automotive technology. Cars have changed, but youth hasn’t. It’s still a squirming package of bad hair and 26 August / September 2012
Jun Jul 2012
Oct Nov 2012