I drove the N2 early this morning. Not the bumper to bumper 1 km/h incoming side towards Cape Town.
I was en route to Somerset West. “No traffic in that direction,” my host said last night, “so you can take a slow drive at 7am”.
I left at 6am anyway. Nothing like being on the open road, wind whistling through your hair, the vast vista of Africa within your grasp.
That was until all hell broke loose behind me. I was ambling along on the cusp of the speed limit when a Boeing switched on its landing lights and tried to land on the freeway behind me.
I was doing a mere 120 km/h in the left-hand lane. Two open lanes to my right. As any Norwegian resident might do in a strange country, driving on what is, for visitors from Europe, the wrong side of the road.
The lights actually belonged to a taxi driver wanting my lane. Now! At the speed a Boeing needs to land. He seemed very proud of his headlights and kept flashing to show me how effective they are at seeing Kilimanjaro in distant Tanzania.
It’s a good thing I donned my adult diaper before leaving my lodging.
He shot past on the yellow-line side. I am not sure if it was a race. But four other taxis seemed to be chasing him. Not all in the same lane, you understand. More in the spirit of jockeying for the first corner at the start of a Formula 1 Grand Prix race.
I was terrified. Even though I am due a breakfast with my brother at 8:30am. I write this at 7:32am at the Wimpy 5 km shy of Somerset West, after my third coffee.
I might abandon the car here and walk the rest of the way.
I am so happy to work online. This commuting gig is hazardous.