From the moral high ground to the ditch

This week’s Independent News & Media Irish regional newspapers’ column.

Michael Commane

In November 2018 I stopped driving my 00 Toyota Corolla. In 14 years it had never once let me down. 

During the previous 12 months I had clocked up less than 700 kilometres. When it came to insuring it on the first day in December I gave it a miss and the car was parked up outside my door for a number of months before a friend of mine collected it and brought it down to West Kerry. The plan was that I would use it when I was down in the summer but that never materialised. I’m told it’s in good running order and the perfect car to drive to Sunday Mass.

I managed fine without the car, that is until Covid descended on us. Over the last year I have been a little nervous about using public transport.

I decided I needed a car and bought one in February.

Since the Christmas lockdown I have been unable to go hill-walking so every Saturday afternoon I have gone for an approximately 10 kilometre urban walk with a friend. We’ve had great walks and I have learned interesting aspects about nearby buildings, roads and bridges.

Saturday, April 17 was the first day I had the opportunity to drive the new car more than five kilometres from my home.

The plan was to walk around the two lakes at Bohernabreena, which is just a few short kilometres outside Tallaght. En route I collected my walking friend.

It was a stunning day. But my worst worries were confirmed. There was not a space to be had in the small car park. We drove off, planning to head up around the side of the lakes and out on over the 

Featherbed and over towards Kippure for a walk.  

We were on an extremely narrow road. A car with a larger than life L plate comes against us. It is not a question of being on the other side of the road as there is only one side to this laneway.

The L driver is hesitant to retreat so I decide I better reverse. 

Everything about my car is new to me. I’m nervous. The handbrake is an electric button, which I haven’t yet managed to master. My friend jumps out of the car and guides my reversing. As I’m slowly reversing, the cars in front and behind begin to build up. Three big motorbikes come towards me, one of the bikers gives me a dirty look, which doesn’t help.

I’m hugging the ditch until I hug it too closely and hear that scratching sound. Nothing to do but drive the car forward and out of the ditch before reversing again. Ever so slowly I inch backwards until I find a space where I can allow the oncoming traffic to pass. 

Am I glad to see them all head off into the sunset.

I decide not to get out and see if I had marked the car. My friend assures me it is a very slight scratch. I have enough of traffic and driving. I turn the car around and drive home.

Isn’t it extraordinary I never missed a Saturday walk since Christmas and the first Saturday I can use the car I have to abandon my walk. 

There’s a moral somewhere in that story.

At least when I had no car I felt I was on some sort high moral ground instead of the ditch.