Mature Flâneur
The Most Beautiful, Terrifying, Drive in Scotland
Across Applecross in a dense fog
One lane road. Cliff wall on the driver’s side, sheer drop on the passenger’s side. This road is so high, we are in dense cloud; it’s raining hard. Near zero visibility. Around the next hairpin turn, out of the milk-gray air, a large white oblong block with two glowing yellow eyes hurtles straight toward us. It’s a camper-van.
“Do NOT pull over!” Teresa (my beloved and intrepid spouse) who is riding shotgun, exclaims with remarkable ferocity.
“I’ve been watching the underside of the road on the turns. It’s eroded away under the grassy margin. If your wheel goes off the tarmac, we go down, motherfucker!”
Sometimes Teresa’s eloquence takes my breath away, and even in moments like this when I have a lot to pay attention to, I just have to pause and really appreciate that she is the best communications professional I’ve ever met.
Her short, imperative sentence stated upfront exactly what action I needed to avoid, underlined by the urgent tone of her voice, which was low and loud — the perfect frequency the male ear needs to hear when a woman wants him to pay attention. Then, a vivid word picture of the immediate threat, so that the mental image of the eroded…
