Eternal Driver

Man, machine, technology, talent, science, speed.
The genius of the engineer, the designer.
The genius of the driver, the master.

A Spring, inside a spring, inside a spring, inside a spring, would it work?
Vacuum cleaners have cyclones, inside cyclones, in a cyclone of cyclonic performance, “So why not?” Thought the engineer sat at the drawing board.
The new driver on his way to the team eager to exploit the new technology to push faster, harder than ever he could. New technology with new pitfalls and new teething problems, leading to new failures. Failures of machine, of man? Is it man? No it’s machine, it must be machine, it can’t be man. Not this man!
Backs are against the wall and the driver comes out fighting, fighting to prove his supremacy, to prove he is in the ascendancy, to prove that he can master this supreme technology with his supreme talent, supreme ability.
The cars line up at the start line, the air is filled with smoke, fumes, noise, tension, he never felt so alive as he grips the suede of the small steering wheel. Today is his day. His breath fogs on the visor of his crash helmet.

The engineer taps his foot, he twiddles his pen, clicks his stopwatch even the air feels heavy as it floods his lungs.

Three. Two. One GO! Tyres spin, acrid tyre smoke fills the air, the driver is away. First, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, brake back to third again. Again he pulls away from the pursuing pack by a metre for every beat of his heart. It’s racing, he’s racing.

Eternal Driver

The car is fighting with him, he’s winning. Winning against the other drivers, the other cars, HIS car. He’s beating his car, he’s winning. Each lap is faster than the last, faster and faster. Perfect lap after perfect lap.

He’s sat in his room, how has this happened? How has he managed to build something so advanced and yet so dangerous. Four perfect laps, that’s all it ever reached, four perfect laps. He’s dead, he drinks, he sleeps, he doesn’t know what to do. Who’s more dead? The engineer with the springs, inside springs, inside springs, inside springs? The driver? No

The driver continues to drive, perfect lap after perfect lap, an empty track to himself twenty four hours per day, seven days per week, fifty two weeks per year. Eternal in his attrition, in his dedication to perfection. He is immortal, he will live in hearts and minds for ever.

The engineer? No, when people tell of the eternal perfect driver through the ages nobody will remember the engineer who’s brilliance ended the ability for all to witness the greatness. The greatness of the eternal driver.